His Brother's Keeper
by OpalBee
Summary: Ever since they were pups, Vilkas has been told to take care of his brother. The arrival of a newcomer to the Companions makes that impossible for Vilkas, and when everything around him starts to fall apart the newblood is a convenient place to put the blame. A chance encounter on the plains forces Farkas to realize that keeping his twin in the dark has done no one any favors.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note: This story contains M/M romance, adult situations and strong language. Any of those three things may arise at any time without any further warning, so please be advised and use your own best judgment as to whether you find those things tolerable.**_

_**Also: I wanted to try something different here than what I'm used to, so this is told entirely in the twins' alternating viewpoints. I bit off more than I could comfortably chew with **_**Grohiiki, Kodaavi**_**, so this is predominantly a romance, with the bulk of the story taking place after the events of both Dawnguard and Dragonborn, focusing pretty much entirely on the Companions and their story line, with the quests tweaked a bit. With the last story I wanted to accomplish something grand, something epic; this story is nothing but pure, unadulterated, fluffy, angsty self-entertainment.**_

_**Cheers!**_

* * *

**Farkas – 16th of Frostfall, 4E204**

"The arrogant bastard," Vilkas muttered.

Farkas didn't respond to his brother, knowing the comment didn't require a response. Or merit one. He stood with his twin at the top of the steps leading up to Jorrvaskr and watched the Dragonborn coming down from Dragonsreach, where an honest to god live dragon was roaring in complaint, its voice making the walls of every building in the city tremble, much as the shouted battle had right before that. Guards filled the plaza around the dead Gildergreen, keeping the curious/frightened throngs from going up to Dragonsreach or bothering the Dragonborn. Farkas couldn't understand Vilkas' problem with the man. Sure, he had helped depose Balgruuf, which Farkas wasn't all that happy about either, since the twins had grown up alongside the Jarl and his brother Hrongar, but Vignar was a good Jarl too, and a Companion at that. Or he had been until the Circle kicked him out of the guild, telling him he had broken the Companions' long-standing neutrality and couldn't be both a Jarl and a Companion. Well, he couldn't, and that was a fact, but Farkas didn't have any hard feelings about it. Vignar did, but not Farkas. Not much was worth hard feelings.

He didn't have any hard feelings towards the Dragonborn either…whoever he was. No one was even all that sure what he looked like. What his real name was. Not much more than that he was a Nord and a former Legionary spellsword who had nearly gotten his head chopped off in Helgen for protesting Ulfric Stormcloak's lack of a trial and had joined the Jarl's camp first chance he got. Farkas couldn't really blame the guy for it. He wouldn't appreciate getting sentenced to death just for insisting Ulfric get a fair shake. Imperials sure liked their laws, and sure liked ignoring them when it was convenient.

"Just look at him," Vilkas sneered. Heimskr was beside himself, his hands clutched worshipfully in front of him as the Dragonborn approached the shrine of Talos, his hand held up as if trying to calm the priest down.

"Yeah, it's really something." The full Daedric armor looked evil as hell, but considering what the Dragonborn had been through the last three-plus years Farkas supposed he needed it. The man ate dragons for breakfast and vampires for lunch. He had wiped out the Dark Brotherhood. He hunted the Thalmor wherever he found them. He had single-handedly won Ulfric's war for him. He had personally cut off General Tullius' head then stuck it on a pike atop the main gate into Solitude just a few days ago. He was Thane in half the holds, though he hadn't come around Whiterun much over the years. Women begged to have his babies, and men who were so inclined threw themselves at his feet. Farkas thought that a bit risky considering the guy could be ugly as sin for all anyone knew; he hadn't gone anywhere since Helgen without his face covered, usually by either a full helmet or one of those creepy Dragon Priest masks. People said it had started at first because he was wanted by the Empire as a traitor and deserter, a death sentence hanging over his head like all the other Nord deserters, but now there was no Empire in Skyrim other than a few units of Legion soldiers trying to escape back to Cyrodiil. Well, the dragons were a bigger problem now than the Empire was.

The twins watched the Dragonborn approach the shrine of Talos, lifting his hands as if to touch the shrine then letting them fall, and when the horned helmet swung their direction Vilkas whispered fiercely, "What the hell is he looking at?"

"Us, I guess." He snorted a laugh. "Maybe he finally wants to join the Companions, huh?" Farkas had actually met the guy once, a day after Helgen was destroyed, though they hadn't known that yet. The man had helped Farkas and Aela take down the giant that was raiding the Pelagia farm, and when Aela had praised his archery skills and said he would make for a good shield-brother, he had laughed and said _Yeah, sure, maybe some other time,_ and had taken off at a run. Granted, he had been in a big hurry, but it had seriously pissed off Aela. And every other Companion who had heard the story. Farkas thought they were all being a little harsh, but he had to admit it was rude of the guy to not even come see what they were about. Even back then no one knew what he looked like; he'd worn Stormcloak chainmail armor then and an iron helmet, with one end of the blue cloth wrapped around the bottom half of his face. So many Nords had defected from the Legion that the guy could be anyone.

"Fuck him. He clearly thinks he's too good for the likes of us. He can go to Oblivion if…bah!" Vilkas broke off as the Dragonborn stared at them, clenching then opening his fists, then suddenly started walking towards them. The townsfolk watching him went still as he walked up the stairs. Vilkas sneered at him and said, "What do you want?"

"I want to talk to Kodlak Whitemane," the Dragonborn replied. The twins hesitated, and the man held his hands out to his sides. "I'm unarmed."

Farkas shivered as the man's voice resonated inside the helmet. People said it wasn't just the helmet either, that he sounded like that when he wore the dragon priest masks too. That his voice always held a faint touch of the thu'um. It was spooky as hell, and that armor wasn't helping things one bit. Farkas asked in confusion, "Why do you want to talk to him now?"

"That's my business."

Vilkas stated, "Too bad." The Dragonborn crossed his arms. "State your business with Kodlak or you're not getting in."

"Is the old man so senile that you have to screen his visitors?"

"You son of a bitch!" Vilkas hissed, and he lunged at the Dragonborn before his brother caught him and hauled him back and the watching townsfolk gasped. The Dragonborn hadn't moved an inch. He seemed completely indifferent. As if Vilkas was as much of a threat as a child. Maybe he was. The guy was a Legion veteran and could use magic and the thu'um. His saying he was unarmed wasn't totally true.

Farkas said with a frown, "That wasn't very nice. I hope you have good intentions." At that the man's head reared back slightly.

"Why wouldn't I?" he retorted. "All I want to do is talk to him for a few minutes. I'm working inside a fairly tight time frame here, you know. Cut me some slack." Farkas' frown deepened. The Dragonborn sounded…young. Barely more than a kid. Farkas hadn't expected that. "Look, I'm… I just want to talk to the Harbinger for a few minutes. Explain why I never joined up."

Vilkas said in contempt, "As if the reasons aren't obvious."

"You two and your distracting good looks?"

Farkas broke into surprised guffaws at that, while Vilkas only seethed further, offended. Well, it never took much, but he didn't usually let it show in public. Farkas gave his twin a gentle shove and said, "Let the guy talk to the old man. What are you afraid of?"

"I fear nothing," Vilkas stated.

"Oooh," the Dragonborn murmured in mock fascination. Vilkas growled furiously and turned on his heel, slamming open the door to Jorrvaskr and storming inside. "Is he always that easy?"

"Pretty much," Farkas said without concern. He turned and waved his hand. "Come on, I'll take you to the old man."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

Once the guy was at the top of the stairs, Farkas whistled in surprise. "Wow, you're, uh…"

"Yeah, I get that a lot," the Dragonborn said tiredly.

"And you're not, ah…"

"No, I'm not an Imperial or a Breton. Or anything else. Full-blooded Nord. Both parents. Can't explain it." He sounded as if he had to frequently.

"It's just that…" The guy was so _tiny._ Well, not tiny, really, since Farkas knew that he himself was big for a Nord, but the top of the Dragonborn's head barely topped Farkas' shoulder. Maybe that was why he sounded so young, because he was small, but then plenty of men of other races were that size and had deeper voices, so maybe not. It made Farkas more curious about his looks than ever. His age. His story. Why hadn't anyone ever said how little the guy was? How had Farkas not noticed during that single encounter with the giant long ago? He supposed they had been standing a fair distance apart, but it was still a little shocking. Well, he supposed people came in all shapes and sizes, even Nords sometimes.

"Yeah, well I can still lay you out flat on your ass, even without the thu'um, so watch it."

"Okay. No offense." The Dragonborn grunted then sighed and waved him off. As Farkas led him inside he said, "So you really have a dragon trapped up there? In that big wooden contraption thingy on the Porch?"

"Sure do. Want to come take a look at it before I go?"

Farkas' eyes widened. "Serious?"

"Sure, why not? You seem like you'd appreciate it." He laughed shortly and gave Farkas a nudge. "Then you can tell your brother all about it later, eh?"

"You sure Vignar won't mind? There's uh, complications there."

"So what. Vignar can kiss my ass."

Farkas frowned in confusion, and out of the corner of his eye he saw his twin lurking in the shadows on a bench by the back doors, glowering so deeply it looked like it had to hurt his face. He debated telling the Dragonborn no, to keep from upsetting Vilkas, but the rest of the Circle kept telling him he needed to stand up to his brother more often, and who knew when he'd get the chance to see a live dragon up close ever again? He found himself saying, "Okay. I'll come see it."

The Dragonborn slapped him on the back and said in a happy tone, "That's the spirit. Man's gotta live for himself sometimes…Farkas, right?"

"Yeah, I'm Farkas. My brother is Vilkas."

"Well met."

"Likewise, ah…"

"Just Dragonborn. Or Dovahkiin if you're feeling fancy."

"I'm not fancy."

"Yeah, I took your brother for the fancy one."

As they went down the stairs Farkas heard the faint hiss of _Asshole!_ from where Vilkas was sitting. There was no telling if the Dragonborn heard it, but he didn't act like he did. It was probably kind of hard to hear inside that nasty helmet. "Are you gonna have to do that forever? Hide your name and face and everything?"

"Nah, not forever. Just until I get a few things wrapped up. I've got family, people I care about, and I can't expose them until I feel it's safe. Now that the Empire is on its way out of Skyrim and Ulfric nearly on the throne I'm almost there. Finish up the vampires after this and I'm home free and can finally start living for myself for once." They went through the door at the bottom of the stairs and he quietly added, "It's not like I enjoy living this way. It's a huge pain in the ass, frankly."

"Seems like it would be." Farkas stopped in the hallway, catching the Dragonborn's arm.

"What?"

"About Kodlak…"

"Yeah?"

Farkas didn't miss the wary tone to the other man's voice, though he couldn't imagine what the cause of it was. "He's uh, well, try not to upset him. He's been…sick." The Dragonborn didn't react to that, not that Farkas could tell, the armor making it impossible to get much in the way of clues from him. He simply stood there, unmoving, the eye holes of his helmet eerily black and empty. "He doesn't want people to know, and Vilkas would be pissed if he found out you knew, but we can't hide it much longer, and you might be able to tell, being…well. He's had a cough he can't shake, for over a year now. Danica says it's the rot. In his lungs. It uh, it doesn't have a cure. She says it's not really a disease, not like witbane or rockjoint or anything, but…I don't understand stuff like that. Vilkas does, but not me." The Dragonborn still didn't respond, and Farkas fidgeted uncomfortably, not sure what else to say. He suddenly caught the faint whiff of…_something_ from the armor, something that smelled like blood, but no blood that Farkas could identify, and it made his nose wrinkle in disgust. Maybe it was Daedra blood he smelled. Eorlund had told Farkas once that he wouldn't work on Daedric armor because it required Daedra hearts. Farkas couldn't blame him.

"How long does he have?"

"Oh. Uh, we don't know. He won't tell us. We think he told Skjor though. They're closer than kin." The Dragonborn nodded, and Farkas motioned with his head then started walking again. "I guess we're all close. Like family. But Skjor and Kodlak go way back. Well, Vilkas and I do too. With Kodlak, I mean. Kodlak was like a father to us, after our real dad left. Tough, but fair. Vilkas took the news about the rot really hard. That's why he went after you like that. He really loves the old man. I do too, but not like Vilkas does."

"I…guess I'll go easier on him then. Vilkas, I mean."

"Thanks. He's a good guy, I swear."

"Sure." The Dragonborn didn't sound convinced, but Farkas supposed right now he didn't need to be.

Kodlak was at the desk in his office, the doors wide open as they usually were. The Dragonborn's footsteps were only slightly less heavy than Farkas' own. He couldn't help wondering how such a small man's frame could carry that kind of weight. He'd heard the guy was supposedly strong as an ox, though. Kodlak looked up from the ledger then leaned back hard in his chair, his eyes widening in surprise.

"So," Kodlak drawled. The Dragonborn stood before him at parade rest, his hands clasped behind his back. The Harbinger coughed into his fist then leaned back in his chair and waited.

While the two men stared at each other, Farkas helpfully said, "He caught a dragon. Up at Dragonsreach."

Kodlak said in a patient tone, "Yes son, I'm well aware of that. The entire city heard the commotion." His eyes narrowed at the Dragonborn as he went on, "I fail to see the reason for this visit, Dovahkiin. You made your feelings on the Companions quite clear three years ago."

"Not clear enough, apparently," the younger man replied in a tight voice.

"That's what he's here for," Farkas explained.

The Dragonborn turned his head slightly and said to Farkas, "I'd like a few minutes alone with him."

"No," Kodlak said curtly. "Say whatever you have to say and be on your way."

The Dragonborn made a sound of offense and said, "Have you paid any attention at all to what I've been doing for the last three years? Does that amount to nothing to the lot of you? I brought peace to this country-"

"At the tip of a sword. You unseated the man who made Whiterun the most prosperous hold in Skyrim. A good man."

"Yes, and he and his family still live because of me. I refused to let Galmar put them to the sword, or any of the other Jarls who were unseated. I patrolled every city we took to make sure no atrocities were committed. I carried myself with honor, and I made sure every man and woman under my command did the same." He made a sound of derision. "So I brought peace to Skyrim by making war. This from a group who prostitutes themselves and kills for coin. _Mercenaries._ At least I kill for what I believe in." Kodlak's eyes narrowed at the insult but he didn't rise to it other than that. "A year and a half ago I was in Markarth and watched that blond goon of yours beat the shit out of a Reachwoman half his size and leave her bleeding in the street, all for coin, and when he saw me he spit at my feet before he walked away. I would've returned the favor if Ulfric hadn't made me promise to not interfere with the Companions in any way. When I healed the woman afterward I asked her if she knew any reason why someone would send you people after her and all she had done was flirt with a Nord woman's man. How dare you cast judgment on me when this is nothing but a group of thugs for hire!"

Kodlak drew in a deep breath and lifted his eyes to Farkas. "Is this true? About Torvar?"

Farkas shrugged, saying, "Could be. Job didn't come from me though. I keep mine fair." It wasn't as if the Companions were obliged to take every job that came their way, but when jobs like that came up Farkas always made sure the bout was fair. He never asked what the reason for the contract was and didn't really care, though the buyers usually felt compelled to explain it to make themselves feel better; if the reason was unethical Farkas refused the job and sent the money back. Knowing the job was to rough up a Reachwoman, he would've sent Athis, not Torvar. That wasn't fair at all, and he could see why it had pissed off the Dragonborn.

Kodlak's irritation seemed to relent at that, and the Harbinger said to the Dragonborn, "That is not how we—" He grimaced and broke into a coughing fit, and once it subsided he said in a rough voice, "That is not how we usually do things, Dovahkiin."

"Yeah? How about five months ago when I was up in the hills outside Morthal fighting a dragon, and I take care of the thing and when I finally pull my sorry ass off the ground I see the old one-eyed guy and the shield-maiden standing off to the side, just watching. I asked why the hell they didn't help me, and the old man said it wasn't their fight. I suppose the end of the world just isn't the Companions' business, is that it? Not unless someone pays you to make it your problem?"

Appalled, Farkas whispered in disbelief, "Skjor said that?"

Kodlak sighed heavily, saying, "I think there have been some misunderstandings."

The Dragonborn looked up at Farkas and said, "His exact words were, 'Not our fight, Dragonborn. Besides, you can take care of yourself, can't you.' How did I manage to misunderstand that? You people sure know how to hold a fucking grudge. All my life I've heard about _your_ glory and honor then you turn around and piss all over mine! I've spent the last three years running myself into the ground with hardly any thought for myself, and yet every time I've run into a Companion I've either gotten smart-assed comments or spit at or dirty looks, all because I didn't have time to join your little club!"

Farkas stared wide-eyed at the man, who was breathing deeply with his fists clenched at his sides as if he was fighting to control himself. Kodlak stared at him as well, with a look of bewilderment on his craggy face. Farkas finally asked, "But…so why are you here, then?"

"Just for the reason I said: to explain why I never joined. I've had too much on my plate from the start, and yet every Companion I run across gets pissy with me. I haven't had time yet to have a life of my own, and I'm supposed to parcel myself out even further? Fuck no." He reached up as if to rub his face then realized he had a helmet on and let his hands fall, suddenly deflating. "I want to talk to the Harbinger alone."

Farkas looked at Kodlak, who was gazing at the Dragonborn with regret. "Uh…want me to go?"

Kodlak ignored the question and said to the Dragonborn, "As I said, I think there have been misunderstandings."

"Yeah? How so?" the man retorted.

"There—" He cleared his throat then gave into the cough for a moment then went on, "There is some resentment among the ranks, it is true. The warriors here hold our company in high esteem. That someone would refuse our offer to join wounded some people's pride, and when it became apparent who you were it made matters worse. There's also the fact that all this running around you've been doing has put a serious dent in our cash flow, let's say."

"Eh…ohh," the younger man muttered in a sheepish tone. "I see."

"Yes. Many of those that you've helped over the last three years…before you came along, those jobs would have been sent to the Companions."

He said in a helpless voice, "So what am I supposed to do when a problem is staring me in the face? Tell them, 'Oh, sorry, you'll have to write a letter to the Companions and hope they can deal with it in time'? I can't tell people that. I can't just walk away. My honor won't allow it. It's my duty to help people. Ulfric says it's my…" He trailed off, seeing Kodlak's lips purse.

"Yes, Ulfric. I would take anything the Bear of Markarth says with a grain of salt. Or two."

"He's not perfect, I know, but he's a great man. A good man. He knows there are things he could have done differently, he admits that. I've spent a lot of time around him. I trust him."

"Hm, very well. Let us hope that the man who lives in the city of Ysgramor and sits upon his throne lives up to at least _some_ of his ideals."

"He has no plans to slaughter all the elves in Skyrim, if that's what you're worried about." Kodlak winced a bit at the pointed statement. "Well, unless they're Thalmor." He huffed and said, "Look, are you going to let me talk to you alone or not? I need to go."

Frowning, the older man replied, "What do you need to say to me that can't be said in front of Farkas?"

The Dragonborn fidgeted, wiggling his fingers inside their gloves, then he quietly stated, "Bruma. 175."

Farkas watched in utter confusion as his Harbinger's skin turned ashen and pale, his eyes widening in what looked to be horror. "Uh, should I go?" he asked uncertainly. Kodlak slowly nodded, not taking his eyes off the Dragonborn, and when Farkas saw them start to glisten he turned on his heel and practically fled, closing the doors behind him as he went. He did _not_ want to hear whatever it was that had made his Harbinger and foster father look like that. He had never in his life seen anything like it on Kodlak's face, and he never wanted to again.

**Vilkas**

He rose to his feet as his twin came up from the living quarters, and he barked, "Where is that little prick? He had better not be bothering Kodlak." The old man needed his rest, and there was nothing restful about the Dragonborn.

"Kodlak wanted me to leave, so I left," Farkas protested. "What was I supposed to do, ignore him?"

"What did the Dragonborn have to say that was so damn important? Or couldn't wait?"

Farkas shrugged and flopped down in a seat at the end of the dining table. "Don't know what they had to say in private. 'Cause it was private."

Vilkas walked over to him and prompted impatiently, "But what did they say before that?"

"He said he never joined the Companions because he was too busy. He said he was tired of running into us on the road and getting attitude. Kodlak said there was some kind of misunderstanding, then he told him how all his good deeds have been cutting into our profits."

"No shit they have!" Contracts were down by nearly half. Honor was well and good, but this was a business. Vilkas knew that better than anyone; not only was he Master at Arms but he was also responsible for balancing the books, able to do the math more quickly in his head than the others could do it on an abacus. Since the day the Dragonborn had started his adventures around Skyrim the Companions had watched their income go on a steady downward slide.

"The guy didn't know, and he had a good point: if someone needs his help and he's right there, he can't just tell them no and walk away. It isn't right." Vilkas fumed, but even he wasn't cold-blooded enough to do that to someone. "Are you the one who sent Torvar to rough up some Reachwoman in Markarth a year and a half ago?"

"Could be, what of it?"

"Dragonborn says Torvar was twice her size and left her bleeding in the street. Says he beat the shit out of her then spit at the Dragonborn and walked away." Vilkas frowned at that, lowering himself into a seat next to his brother. Farkas went on in a lowered voice, "That isn't right either, Vilkas. It makes us look bad. It makes us look like thugs, just like he said. He made it sound like the other reason he never joined us is because he questions our honor."

"Maybe Torvar had been drinking."

"He's not supposed to drink on the job. He could've killed her."

"And maybe the Dragonborn exaggerated the entire thing," Vilkas said in a sour tone. "I'm sure Mister Hero-to-the-Masses found the sight of some pretty little girl with a bloody nose quite upsetting." Farkas slowly shook his head at him, his pale eyes narrowed. Well, his twin had always been the more idealistic one, and like it or not it was a product of his limited intellect. He saw everything in black or white, good or bad, with little room for subtlety. Vilkas leaned back in the chair, balancing it on two legs, and said in a patient tone, "Look brother, it's very nice that the Dragonborn has been doing all these good deeds for—"

"You'd better not be patronizing me," Farkas growled. "I hear that tone to your voice. You're patronizing me." Farkas was slow to anger, but once roused he was like a raging bull, and even Vilkas knew better than to tangle with an enraged Farkas.

"I am not," he protested, even though he had been. "I am trying to be charitable to someone who has single-handedly nearly put us out of business. Over four thousand years we have been here, and for the first time in recorded memory there aren't enough jobs to go around, and it's because of the Dragonborn. That is a simple statement of fact, and the reasons for it do not matter."

"They do matter. The intent matters. There was no ill will, in fact he seemed embarrassed."

"How the hell would you be able to tell that through a helmet?"

"Uh, his voice?" Farkas retorted in annoyance. He scratched the back of his neck and went on more quietly, "It was weird though. He kept asking to talk to Kodlak alone, and Kodlak kept saying no, then he finally said 'Bruma, 175', and Kodlak looked like someone stepped on his grave. I asked him if he wanted me to go and he just nodded. So I left."

Confused, Vilkas muttered, "That is odd." Nothing rattled Kodlak. Gods knew the twins had spent enough of their childhood trying to get his goat. They'd gotten plenty of swats on the backside for it, but even then Kodlak had kept his calm. They had seen him angry plenty of times, but he always kept his composure. What could have happened in Bruma twenty-nine years ago that would get to Kodlak like that? There had been Thalmor atrocities committed in Bruma at the end of the war, but they should have had nothing to do with Kodlak. The twins had come to Jorrvaskr still in diapers thirty-eight years ago, and Kodlak had already been here then, though not long, still a young man and not yet a member of the Circle. Kodlak could have been in Bruma in 175 though, and he had been a member of the Circle by then. He had traveled widely his entire life, first as a mercenary then a bodyguard in Hammerfell, where the previous Harbinger Askar had found him during his own travels. Kodlak had kept traveling even as a Companion, taking the far-flung jobs others wouldn't, and back then the Companions would occasionally take jobs in northern Cyrodiil, as the Fighters Guild had been decimated by the number of members who were fighting (and dying) in the war. Yes, Kodlak very well could have been in Bruma in 175; Vilkas remembered him being gone for sometimes a few months at a time back then, right before Jergen left. Kodlak had stopped traveling after that, taking over the job of raising the twins from their worthless father.

"What do you think it means?"

"Hell if I know. Once the Dragonborn leaves I'll go down and talk to the old man. I'm certain he will tell me." Kodlak trusted him with things that he trusted to only Skjor. He knew that Kodlak wanted Skjor to succeed him as Harbinger, but at fifty-eight the other man was only eight years younger than Kodlak, and so Vilkas hoped that Kodlak would see him as a viable option. He certainly felt like he was the best option, though he had to admit that he wasn't the most objective person about the matter.

"Well I think you need to talk to Torvar."

Vilkas rolled his eyes. "About something that happened a year and a half ago? Are you serious?"

Farkas grunted. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He brightened and said, "Dragonborn says I can go up to Dragonsreach with him and see the dragon before he…kills it or whatever he's going to do."

"Are you out of your damn mind? No."

"You can't tell me no," he said in aggravation. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Your brother."

"So what? I'm forty goddamn years old. I'm going to go look at the dragon and if you don't like it you can kiss my ass."

Instead of getting angry, Vilkas frowned at him for a moment then asked, "Where is this coming from?"

Farkas' irritation melted away as he said, "Uh, everyone says I need to stand up for myself more. With you."

Vilkas sputtered. "Find some different way to do it."

"Well I'm going to go see the dragon. Besides, the Dragonborn won't let anything happen to me."

"Ah yes, just like he didn't let anything happen to his two dead housecarls." The twins had been good friends with Lydia, and hearing how she had died three years ago hadn't helped endear Vilkas towards the Dragonborn one bit. Her death had been senseless, caught in a Dwemer trap. The other dead housecarl, Argis, had died fighting Forsworn in the Reach two years ago. At least the Dragonborn had had the sense to stop taking housecarls out with him after that. Lydia's death still hurt, just as Balgruuf being unseated still stung, and the Dragonborn was behind both losses.

"It's a housecarl's job to protect their Thane, not the other way around. It wasn't his fault either time."

"You are awfully defensive of someone you don't know."

"I know his reputation, just like everyone else does, and he's a good person. Nothing he said to Kodlak was wrong." Farkas fidgeted and softly added, "I really wish we knew what they were talking about. He acted like he was in a hurry."

It took nearly fifteen minutes before they heard the downstairs door open and heavy booted feet on the stairs. All the other Companions were either out back training or on jobs, thank the Nine, or there really would have been a scene earlier. The Dragonborn had his arms folded tightly and his head down, and when Vilkas barked at him it barely seemed to register. "Are you done here?"

"Yeah, I guess so," the Dragonborn mumbled.

They watched the other man walk through the mead hall, seemingly lost in thought, and Vilkas felt a swell of protective irritation when the Dragonborn said nothing to Farkas. He then paused at the doors, and Vilkas felt a twinge of shock as the Dragonborn pulled off his helmet and rubbed his face quickly then put the helmet back on. All they could see was the back of his head, close-shaven, fair-skinned, so pale it was as if it never saw the sun. Vilkas supposed maybe it hadn't for the last three years.

The Dragonborn turned and looked at Farkas then waved him over, and the Companion grinned and leapt up from his seat. Vilkas warned, "You had better take care of my brother, Dragonborn."

"As if he were my own," the man swore. When Farkas joined him he slapped the big warrior on the back and then they were gone.

Vilkas huffed, worried, but Farkas was right: he was a grown man, able to make his own decisions, up to a point. He was only going up to look at a trapped dragon, not fight one. The twins desperately wanted to take one on, someday, but that was not likely to ever happen. The creatures seemed to either stick close to their lairs, guarding their word walls, or were drawn to the Dragonborn, who usually dispatched the creatures well enough on his own.

As he got up and headed downstairs Vilkas couldn't help being a little envious of Farkas. It had been… All right, it had been _kind_ of the Dragonborn to offer to take Farkas up to the palace to see the beast. Fine, it had been kind. Vilkas still didn't like him. He had cost too many people too much. Balgruuf had not only been a good Jarl, he had been a friend, and so had Hrongar, and so had Lydia, one that Vilkas at times had hoped could one day be more. Vignar was an old fool, with no children of his own, in his early seventies, and who was going to rule Whiterun after him? Eorlund had no interest, and his son Avulstein was following him in his trade while Thorald was still a Stormcloak soldier, neither of them suited to the task of ruling; Olfina seemed to have no interest in the responsibility either. Skyrim was at peace now, but for how long? The Battle of Solitude had been less than a week ago, the Dragonborn hurrying straight from there to Dragonsreach, to find a way to finish off Alduin once and for all. As if you could finish off the God of Destruction. What a joke.

He found Kodlak's quarters partially open, and he knocked on one of the doors and quietly asked, "Is everything all right, Harbinger?" Kodlak didn't answer right away. "Master?"

"I would like to be alone for a while, Vilkas," he answered in a rough voice. "Close the doors. Please."

"Aye." He resisted the urge to peek in, feeling a surge of fresh anger toward the Dragonborn for having obviously upset Kodlak. He heard a hacking cough behind the doors and it made him clench his fists in fury. If the Dragonborn tried coming back here he was going to get his head knocked in. Vilkas hadn't been bested in a fight in more years than he could count, and he was more than capable of kicking the Dragonborn's ass, as long as the little shit didn't cheat and use the thu'um or spells. Vilkas hoped that once the man was done with whatever the hell he was doing in Whiterun that he would take himself back to Windhelm and Ulfric's court and stay there.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Another chapter, because it's the holidays, and Tree1112 asked so very nicely. Julie5, thank you for the wonderful review, and everyone else who has already commented and given a Favorite/Follow.**_

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**Farkas – 18th of Frostfall, 4E204**

"Come on girl," Kodlak demanded, lifting his shield again. "You're going to have to do better than that." Ria's lips pressed together in a flat line then she let out what might have been a war cry and took another swing, her sword ringing off the steel. "Better. Again."

Farkas and Skjor glanced at each other and the old warrior snorted then quietly said, "She's got spunk, gotta give her that." The newest member of the Companions, the apothecary Arcadia's niece, had promise, though she wasn't the kind of material their guild was used to working with. Farkas thought she was kind of cute though, especially the way she squealed when she took a swing. Not particularly interesting, but cute, in a little sister sort of way.

Farkas nodded and agreed, "Yeah, she's…eh… What the hell is that?" Farkas shot to his feet and Skjor followed a second later, going to the edge of the porch to stare up at the sky. "Oh shit…" Farkas breathed. Dragons. Dozens of dragons, well, twenty at least, heading for the summit of the Throat of the World from all directions. He couldn't believe the number of dragons. How could there still be so many, when the Dragonborn had been hunting them for the last three years?

"What in Oblivion!" Skjor whispered fiercely. He hurried over to Kodlak with Farkas on his heels, and the older man had noticed as well, staring up at the massive mountain with his jaw clenched. They could hear cries of panic from the city and the shouts of guards, but there didn't seem to be any immediate danger. Skjor gripped Kodlak's shoulder and murmured something softly to him, and Kodlak shook his head and briefly put his hand over his friend's.

Farkas barely noticed, too absorbed in watching the dragons converge on the mountain. So many dragons! The memory only two days ago of seeing a real live dragon up close was the highlight of his life, right up there with joining the Circle. The beast had been immense, though Farkas couldn't help feeling a little sorry for it, trapped like that and groaning in discomfort, every so often letting out a bellow of helpless rage. And it had talked. Like a person, in a voice that had shaken the timbers of Dragonsreach, and the Dragonborn had responded in kind, his voice nearly as large. They had argued back and forth about something for several minutes in a tongue Farkas couldn't follow, that no one could follow, then the Dragonborn had casually ordered the guards to let the dragon go.

He shivered and rubbed his arms in the cool, late fall air, wondering if the red dragon was one of the ones flying towards the mountain. He could see all different colors, but none of them were red. They got smaller and smaller then disappeared from sight as they reached the peak, but he could hear the distant rumble of thunder every so often and knew it was them. He wondered what on Nirn they were up to. The Dragonborn had said nothing about this happening. The man had seemed distracted before he left, sad even. Farkas couldn't blame him; after the guy had mounted the dragon and flown off—he'd ridden the dragon like a horse!—Jarl Vignar had gruffly told Farkas that the Dragonborn was bound for Sovngarde. Farkas hadn't wanted to believe it, but everyone else seemed to, so he supposed he had to as well.

Vilkas had scoffed at the notion when Farkas had returned to tell him all about it. His brainy twin had started rambling about Sovngarde and the Hall of Valor being nothing but a metaphor or some crap like that, with his big fancy words and his always trying to prove he was the smartest person in the room. Vilkas always had to prove that he was the best at everything. Well he sure was best at aggravating people. Kodlak had actually yelled at him that night, when he kept pressing the old man about what the Dragonborn had talked to him about. Vilkas had left in a huff, riding off to Eastmarch on a job that had been meant for Farkas and Athis. Farkas was fairly irritated by that, and Athis had made some very pointed remarks about Vilkas' womanly cycle and how maybe he should see an alchemist about it, something that had sent Ria into hysterics and made even Aela chuckle in amusement. Of course the remark had been made once Vilkas was halfway to the stables.

Worried about his brother, Farkas moved up next to Kodlak, seeing the old man still staring at the mountain. Both old men; Skjor was staring up at the Throat of the World as well. Both of them seemed to be waiting, for…something, gods knew what.

Farkas opened his mouth and took a breath to ask when suddenly the world shook.

"_ALDUIN LOS MAHLAAN!"_

Ria jumped and gasped as the men flinched, and when thunder rolled and the world beneath their feet trembled she moved close to Farkas with a whimper. He put his arm around her and she clung to him. "It's okay, little sister," he soothed.

"Is it? Really?" she replied fearfully.

"_ALDUIN LOS MAHLAAN!"_

"I don't know," he admitted. He had no idea what mahlaan meant. Was Alduin dead, or was he victorious, which meant the Dragonborn was dead?

"_ALDUIN LOS MAHLAAN!"_

The thunder died away and a distant, high-pitched keening took its place. Farkas saw Kodlak flinch as if struck, and when the keening grew to screams of horror the Harbinger seemed to fold in on himself, his eyes wide and haunted. Skjor tried to lead him away and Kodlak resisted, unable to move while the shrieking echoed across Skyrim, seeming to tear the world apart. Farkas hugged little Ria to him, glad to have someone to hold onto, unable to help shuddering as the ground beneath his feet trembled. The screaming was human, and there was only one human in the world whose voice was loud enough to be heard like that, and the realization made tears sting his eyes. _Dragonborn._ The Dragonborn had returned from Sovngarde and was screaming himself hoarse at the Throat of the World as if he was dying, or wished he was.

"_DOVAHKIIN!"_

The screams finally tapered off and Farkas risked a glance at his Harbinger. The old man was trembling, staring blankly at nothing. That last shout had been human too, the combined voices of the Greybeards. Maybe they would be able to help the Dragonborn with…whatever was wrong. Because something was very, very wrong. Farkas had heard people scream like that before, when they got a limb hacked off, but the screams were short-lived because he was the one doing the hacking and he killed them right afterward. He hated seeing people suffer, even if they were bandits. He'd heard screams like that too when he had come across people being tortured. Those were the screams that really haunted him for days afterwards. This…this was going to haunt him. And it looked like it was going to haunt Kodlak too.

"Come on, old friend," Skjor whispered. Kodlak still resisted. "Farkas, your help."

Farkas let go of Ria to move to Kodlak's side, taking the old man's arm and gently pulling him away. The Harbinger let out a choked sound of grief and let himself get led inside Jorrvaskr. The entire city was quiet, even Eorlund's and Avulstein's never-ending hammering at the Skyforge silent.

"I…" Kodlak began as they seated him at the bench inside the doors, then he fell into a coughing fit, clutching at his chest. "I must go to High Hrothgar," he gasped.

Skjor squatted at his side and grabbed his knee, saying quietly, "You'd never make the climb, brother."

"Ivarstead then. To keep watch. If…when he comes down."

Farkas spoke up then, asking, "Should someone go tell Ulfric?"

"Ulfric will know," Skjor stated, his tone curt. "I'm sure he keeps very close tabs on his greatest asset."

"But Ulfric could go up there."

Skjor made a sound of contempt. "High Hrothgar is the last place he wants to go."

"Oh. Right." Farkas had forgotten that Ulfric had trained to be a Greybeard as a boy, and had quit the training to join the Legion and fight in the Great War. The Greybeards probably wouldn't let him back in the front door.

"Go get Kodlak's war hammer. I'm taking him to Ivarstead."

"Want me to go with you?"

Skjor rolled his one good eye. "Want me to kick you in the ass? We'll be fine."

"All right, all right." The offer had mostly been for Farkas' sake. He knew the old men were more than capable; Skjor still regularly went on jobs, was still the best of the Companions, and except for an occasional coughing spell Kodlak was still hale. That cough though would get aggravated by the cold and the exertion of climbing the Seven Hundred Steps or Seven Thousand or however the hell many there were. Farkas had offered to go mostly because he wanted to see the Dragonborn again. Wanted to help him if he could. The guy had been so kind to him, without even a hint of the patronizing tone most people used on him.

He went to the Harbinger's quarters to fetch Kodlak's war hammer, hearing Skjor go to his own quarters to ready for the journey. Farkas entered Kodlak's bedroom and glanced around for the hammer. It was propped up between his bed and the nightstand, and when Farkas picked it up it jostled the small table, making an empty mug fall to the floor. He sighed and bent down to pick it up, then he saw something else had fallen off the table along with it. He picked up the old brass disk and looked at it in confusion. It was worn, as if fingers had rubbed it obsessively over decades. There was a loop at the top, leading him to believe it was a pendant, and when he turned it over he saw he was right. It was inset with a mosaic of turquoise, several of the pieces missing, and at the center was a looped design in brass. A lover's knot. He frowned and set the pendant back on the side table. He couldn't recall ever seeing anything like it, and never in Kodlak's quarters.

He shrugged to himself and left with the hammer, closing the door behind him. Being nosy never paid. Vilkas still didn't seem to have learned that lesson. Farkas hoped his twin's temper had cooled by time he returned to Whiterun. He didn't want to see any more ugly confrontations between his brother and his Harbinger. The job would take Vilkas a while, and by time he finished it, picked up the bounty from Ulfric's steward, and returned home maybe Kodlak would be back as well. And maybe, just maybe everything would go back to some kind of normal.

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**Vilkas – 21st of Frostfall, 4E204**

_I hate this place,_ Vilkas thought sourly as he stomped the snow off his boots and shook it out of his heavy fur cloak before entering the Palace of the Kings. The snow never entirely melted here, and the city was gray and dour, like a prison, as if the high stone walls were meant more to keep the people in than anything out. The job to clear out Uttering Hills Cave had been routine, though a bit of a challenge to do alone. Not anything he couldn't handle though. It had given him a chance to get out of Jorrvaskr for a while. Cool off. And more importantly let Kodlak cool off.

The old man had definitely taken him by surprise with his heated reaction to Vilkas' questions, and in hindsight Vilkas could see where he had gone wrong. Unfortunately such revelations were usually in hindsight. Farkas had told him to leave the matter alone and as usual Vilkas hadn't listened. His brother wasn't the smartest man, but he certainly had more common sense than Vilkas ever had. Kodlak had bellowed at Vilkas to mind his own damn business and leave him the hell alone. That had hurt. What had hurt worse was that Skjor had come along while Vilkas was preparing to leave, and Kodlak had taken him into his quarters and shut the door, probably telling him everything. He knew Skjor and Kodlak were closer than brothers. He knew that, but it still hurt.

He walked up the right side of the hall, seeing Ulfric in the war room with Galmar Stone-Fist and another Stormcloak officer, Yrsarald perhaps, bent over a table discussing something in low, intent voices. Probably war. Always war. _Evgir unslaad,_ old Bergitte Battle-Born called it, in the ancient tongue that no one remembered more than bits and pieces of. Oh, except the Dragonborn of course. Farkas had gone on and on about how the Dragonborn had held a full-blown conversation with that dragon on the Great Porch, before mounting it like a pony and gallivanting off into the sunset. Maybe the others had found his tale fascinating but Vilkas had no patience for it. The Dragonborn had simply waltzed into Whiterun and stirred things up then waltzed out again, leaving turmoil in his wake, just as he did everywhere he went.

Jorleif saw Vilkas coming and smiled broadly at him, smoothing down his ridiculously large moustache as he called out, "Hail Companion! I take it Uttering Hills is cleaned out?"

Vilkas smiled briefly at him and nodded. "Aye. No trouble at all."

"Ah, good news." When Vilkas neared him he fished out a bag of coin from his belt pouch and tossed it to him. The Companion deftly caught it and tucked it into his own belt.

"My thanks. Any other jobs to be had?"

"No, not at this time. Though maybe…" He glanced over to the war room. "Maybe your business might pick up after this," he finished more quietly.

"Good. No offense, but the last few years have been lean, for obvious reasons."

Jorleif cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "Well, yeah, that."

Vilkas saw Ulfric straighten up from the table and rub his eyes, looking stressed. "Tell me we aren't still at war."

"No, no. Skyrim has no more stomach for bloodshed, and neither does the Empire. The Imperials who are left are being allowed to go peacefully. Ulfric knows every soldier will be needed against the elves. He doesn't want to see Cyrodiil fall any more than the Emperor does. Once he's crowned he'll sign treaties with the Empire, but they—" He cut off with a gasp as one of the great bronze doors of the palace was flung open, with enough force to nearly take it off its hinges. The cold came howling in, the snow parting around the figure standing in the doorway, dark and ominous, its fists clenched.

"_ULFRIC!"_

The roar made Vilkas take a step back, nearly knocking over Jorleif. The Dragonborn came limping into the main hall, his Daedric armor so heavily damaged that it looked barely functional, dented, pierced and even melted in spots. He no longer had the helmet but wore a hooded mask of ebony. He was armed this time, with a steel Akaviri katana that crawled with purple magic strapped to his back.

The Jarl came running out of the war room, Galmar and Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced on his heels, the two warriors reaching for their weapons. As the Dragonborn limped toward Ulfric, Jorleif whispered urgently to Vilkas, "If the Dragonborn attacks, I need you to defend Ulfric."

"What's in it for me?" Vilkas countered. Jorleif looked at him in disgust. "You want me to risk my damn life for a man who has done nothing for me, out of the goodness of my heart? I grew up with Balgruuf!"

"Name your price, just protect your future king!"

"Fine, if it comes to that. Five thousand gold." Jorleif nodded, muttering something under his breath about cold-blooded mercenaries. Well, that was exactly what Vilkas was, and he wasn't going to pretend otherwise, and never had.

"You lied to me!" the Dragonborn shouted in a rough voice, the stone walls vibrating with it. His voice broke as he screamed, _"YOU FUCKING LIED TO ME!"_

Ulfric said in a shaking voice, "I did what I had to, Stormblade—"

"I don't want any of your shitty titles! He's dead, you lying asshole! I saw him in Sovngarde!"

Ulfric's eyes closed for a moment as he whispered, "I'm sorry. I know and I'm sorry."

"_SORRY?!"_ he shrieked. "Ralof's dead and you're sorry!"

"I know you two were very close—"

The Dragonborn put his hands to his head and cried, "Close? He was _MY HUSBAND!"_

"Ah shit," Jorleif whispered in a choked voice. Vilkas couldn't help feeling a surge of pity and sympathy for the man. No one had ever mentioned that the Dragonborn had been married. Not even a whisper. The name Ralof sounded familiar, though Vilkas couldn't place it at the moment. What a way to find out your spouse was dead. It was troubling though…the Dragonborn spoke as if he had actually gone to Sovngarde. Like it was a real place. Surely that wasn't possible?

"Over three years we've been married, you bastard!" the Dragonborn cried, his voice breaking again. "Since right after Korvanjund!"

Ulfric exclaimed in shock, "Neither of you said a word about it! If you had told me I would have kept him out of the fighting!"

"That's why we didn't tell you, he begged me to not tell you!" His fists clenched and unclenched as he paced the hall, and Galmar and Yrsarald watched him intently on either side of Ulfric, their hands still ready to draw weapons. Vilkas thought neither of them stood a chance if things went bad. Vilkas probably wouldn't stand a chance either if the crazy son of a bitch decided to shout or use magic. "I bought Hjerim for him! For us!" the Dragonborn went on in a tear-choked voice. "Everything I've done was for him, so I could have a life with him, a family with him, and now I have nothing!"

"I'm so sorry," Ulfric said with grief. "Mara's mercy, I would do anything to get him back, but I can't."

"You lied to me!" the Dragonborn said in a near whimper. "Me! I trusted you!"

"I did what I had to. If I'd told you he was dead you would have been distracted while—"

"You think seeing him there wasn't a distraction?" he shouted. "He was caught in the mist with all the other Nord dead from your fucking war, thousands of them! Not just Stormcloaks, Nord Legionaries too, all of them just as dead! I couldn't get any of them out of the damn mist! It was all I could think about, him being dead, while I was trying to fight Alduin, and I nearly died because of it!" Ulfric looked stricken, his face pale and eyes wide. "If you'd told me he was dead I could have grieved then moved on and done my job, but no, you lied to me! You told me you sent him with a detachment back to Windhelm and I believed you! I should've known when you wouldn't look me in the eye. I believed you and had to find out the hard way, and look what it cost me!"

The Dragonborn pulled off the mask and hood, and Vilkas sucked in a sharp breath of dismay as everyone else recoiled in horror. The man's head and neck were pink and shiny, hairless, down to the lack of eyebrows and eyelashes, and the right side of his face was a congealed mess that pulled one side of his mouth into a permanent grimace, cut through with a deep, angry red scar that slashed across his nose and right eye, which was nothing but a puckered scar. It was the most horrifying thing Vilkas had ever seen, something he knew was going to plague his restless sleep for years to come. It made him want to weep for the man, a depth of pity that he had rarely had cause in his life to feel. Tears spilled down Ulfric's cheeks as he swallowed hard, and when he moved towards the Dragonborn the other man quickly backed away.

"I should have died, damn you! My whole left side was smashed up, and I still kept fighting! His tail destroyed my helmet, and the next thing I knew my face was boiling, and I still struck the killing blow!" Ulfric nodded, his eyes shining, clutching the amulet of Talos around his neck. "I wanted to die there and Tsun wouldn't let me. I wanted to die on the mountain and the Greybeards wouldn't let me! I laid there for an hour in the snow willing myself to die, and I was almost there when they found me! I could have been whole and in Sovngarde with Ralof and instead I'm doomed to a lifetime of hell as a monster!" Ulfric moved towards him again and the Dragonborn screamed hoarsely and spun away, grabbing the edge of the long table and throwing it across the hall, where it crashed against the wall near Vilkas and Jorleif. "I was beautiful!" the Dragonborn cried.

"I know," Ulfric whispered. "Gods help me, you'll never know how sorry I am, Dovahkiin. I would trade places with you or Ralof right now if I could, believe m—"

"Believe you!" the Dragonborn spat. "I'll never believe another fucking word out of your mouth! I am _done_ with you, do you hear me? Skyrim can burn for all I care! Let the vampires and the Thalmor burn it all!" He spun on his heel and grabbed up the mask and hood then limped out of the hall.

"Where are you going, Dragonborn?" Galmar asked warily.

"I'm going back to High Hrothgar and staying there. Never ask me to do anything ever again, and don't even dream of asking me to come to the Moot when it happens. I'll kill the person who comes after me, do you hear me? I don't care who it is."

"But the vampires!"

The Dragonborn threw his hand out behind him, pointing at Vilkas. "Get the Companions to finish it! I don't fucking care!"

Ulfric shook his head and ran after him, and Vilkas moved closer, ready to step in if it turned ugly. It was tempting to let the Dragonborn take out Stormcloak, but Vilkas knew if that happened the civil war might start up again, and no one wanted that.

"Dovahkiin, wait," Ulfric pleaded. "We'll find you a healer—"

"I'm already healed, damn it!" the man cried. Ulfric caught up to him, daring to touch his shoulder, and the Dragonborn hit his hand away. "The wounds had set too long by time the Greybeards found me. There's no way to fix this! I'm in pain all the time!"

"Locking yourself away in a monastery won't help. You won't be content there any more than I was."

"Content? Where the hell am I going to be content!" He pulled the mask and hood on, making sounds of discomfort that made Ulfric grimace.

"And what of your mother?"

"Iona can keep taking care of the daft woman. You think I'm going to let her see what I've turned into? She'd lose what little mind she has left." He turned and limped away from Ulfric. "All I wanted was to get this over with so I could live a normal life with Ralof and not have to hide anymore, and now I'm going to spend the rest of my life hiding. He was my _life,_ do you get that?" He suddenly stopped and turned, and he clenched his fists as he asked brokenly, "Where is his body?"

"Riverwood," Ulfric mumbled, fresh tears running down his face. "He wanted to be taken home to Riverwood."

The Dragonborn shuddered and turned away, and Vilkas watched him go, feeling an unfamiliar ache in his heart. It wasn't as if he didn't have feelings; he was just picky about who he allowed close enough to make him feel anything tender. The Dragonborn was too tragic to not feel for, no matter how irritating the man had been in Jorrvaskr. A dead husband, a deformed face, constant pain… Well, now Vilkas knew where he had heard the name Ralof before. He was the young man whose sister ran the lumber mill. Folk from Riverwood often came into Whiterun to trade, and the Companions passed through Riverwood often, so Vilkas was familiar with Gerdur and her husband Hod. And their spoiled prankster brat Frodnar.

"Companion." Vilkas looked away from the Dragonborn limping out the still-open door of the palace. Galmar came up to him and asked, "Can the Companions do it?"

"Do what?"

"Deal with vampires."

Vilkas shrugged. "Depends. Deal how? We can kill them, sure."

Ulfric rubbed his face and wearily said as he joined them, "The Companions cannot do it, Galmar."

"Why not?" Vilkas asked. "I have fought vampires many times before." He detested the creatures. Most folk did, but the Circle held a special distaste for them. Their dens were horrifying, reeking of old blood and rot, and the vampires themselves didn't smell much better.

"Can you read an Elder Scroll?" Vilkas' nose wrinkled; he wasn't about to dignify that with an answer. Of course he couldn't read an Elder Scroll. Ulfric sighed then sniffed, looking deeply troubled. "The Dragonborn is the only one who can do it. It isn't as simple as finding a nest of vampires and wiping it out." He looked at Galmar and went on, "Stormblade found this out right before Solitude, old friend. I was too preoccupied with other matters to tell you. The vampires are looking for some artifact that will help them blot out the sun. The only way to find it is to gather three specific Elder Scrolls and read them. The Dragonborn is the only being who can do it."

Galmar grunted then muttered, "Give the lad time. It was a heavy loss. Shor's bones, to see his man in Sovngarde... I wish the damn boys had told us. I knew they traveled and bunked together from time to time but…"

Ulfric's eyes closed for a moment, then they opened as he said to Vilkas, "Since you are returning to Whiterun… Could you take a letter to the Temple of Kynareth for me? To Danica Pure-Spring. There is no greater healer in all of Skyrim. Perhaps she can do something for him."

"Aye Jarl, I can do that," Vilkas agreed. He wouldn't even charge for the service. He wasn't completely heartless, and it was right by Jorrvaskr.

Galmar said to Ulfric, "His sense of duty won't let him stay up there forever, Ulfric. He's suffering now, but eventually he'll come back down. If nothing else, he'll leave when they run out of mead. The lad likes his drink."

Ulfric nodded, still looking deeply saddened. The Jarl then said to Vilkas, "We may have some work for the Companions in the meantime. Stormblade was working with a former Vigilant of Stendarr, Isran, on the vampire problem. I will notify him to send some work your way. Taking out vampire nests, fetching items…things of that nature, nothing too esoteric. You will be paid well for it."

Vilkas said with a nod, "We can manage that, my lord." The work would be welcome, an interesting change of pace from fetching stolen heirlooms and kidnap victims.

He turned back to Galmar. "Give Stormblade a month at High Hrothgar. Then I want a letter taken up there with the monthly supply drop. I won't have him pressured into coming down, but I am not about to let him spend the rest of his life as a priest. The Dragonborn was never meant for that. Let him find whatever peace he can up there for now." The old housecarl grunted in acknowledgment.

Vilkas bowed slightly to Ulfric and said, "I will take my leave then, Jarl Ulfric. I am staying at the inn, if you would have the letter dropped off there before I leave in the morning." The older man nodded. Vilkas turned away, then he stopped himself and turned back. "Alduin is dead though…right?"

"Aye. Did you not hear the dragons four nights ago?"

"No, I was inside the cave at the time. I thought it only thunder."

"_Alduin los mahlaan,_ they said…Alduin is fallen." Ulfric made a sound of grief and murmured, "Even as horribly wounded as he was, he still managed to bring down a demi-god. Have you ever seen him fight, Companion?" Vilkas shook his head. "He is a force of nature, the very breath of Kyne. At Solitude the Empire threw everything they had left at us, wave upon wave of soldiers, and he took hardly a scratch. And now…now he is crippled, as if every injury he avoided in life was dumped on him all at once."

"Your dinner table and your front door might disagree."

Ulfric shook his head. "I have seen it before, in wartime. Wounds left too long without magical healing. They never heal quite right, and leave permanent scars." He touched his left cheek. "Case in point."

"Danica may know something that can help. I have seen her bring people back from the brink of death. Perhaps she knows of some way to at least lessen his pain."

"One can only hope."

The Jarl slapped Vilkas on the shoulder then walked away, and Vilkas sighed softly to himself and went out the open door, where snow was piling up as the guards frantically tried to right it so they could get it closed. Farkas would be saddened to hear of what had happened to his new friend. The big oaf was so amiable that the smallest kindnesses meant too much to him. And Kodlak…Kodlak would be undoubtedly upset to hear of this. The new influx of work would be welcome, but the cost was high.

It was a shame, but what exactly did the Dragonborn think was going to happen, facing the God of Destruction? Vilkas was well-versed in Nord myths, and while he had always taken most of them for exactly that, myths, there was no denying that dragons now existed where they hadn't before Alduin appeared. There was no denying Helgen, which Vilkas had seen for himself not long after it happened. He could smell the charred bodies from miles away. And now the poor Dragonborn was a walking charred body. It was tragic, and Vilkas could only hope that he was blessed with a rare good night tonight so that ruined face didn't scream its way through his dreams.

He made his way to Candlehearth Hall, glad for the warmth inside. Whiterun in the depths of winter wasn't as cold as a good day in Windhelm, and this was only fall. He took a seat at the bar and slid his pack off his back, and when Elda the innkeeper asked what his pleasure was he said, "I don't care at this point as long as it's hot."

"Horker stew it is, then."

"Fine by me. And an ale."

"Aye Companion, coming right up."

As she bent down to get a bowl from under the counter, he asked, "Does Susanna still work here?" He saw the older woman freeze for a moment, and when she stood back up it was slowly, a deep frown on her face.

"It's ah…been a while since you were in last?"

"A year or more, why?"

"She was killed about nine, ten months ago."

Stricken, Vilkas murmured, "I'm sorry, I had no idea. How did it happen?"

"There was a killer in town. Calixto Corrium."

He frowned in confusion. "The man who owned the curiosity museum with his sister?" Vilkas had never gone inside, but of course his gullible twin had done so a few years ago, and had come home all atwitter about seeing Ysgramor's Soup Spoon, which had actually been a fork, and Vilkas had had to break it to him that he'd been had, that not even Ysgramor could eat soup with a fork, that probably none of the items in the 'museum' had been what Calixto claimed them to be. Farkas had not been at all happy about that, and it had been all Vilkas and the others could do to keep Farkas from turning right back around and returning to Windhelm to pound the charlatan into the ground. It had been kind of funny, actually. It never ceased to amaze Vilkas the things that Farkas fell for. It was kind of cute at times, if one could find a man who was six foot six and two hundred fifty pounds cute.

"Yes, well, the sister died about a year ago. Slipped on the ice and cracked her head open like an egg, I tell you. The man never quite recovered from it, and if you ask me…" She leaned in close and added in a loud whisper, "There was something _unnatural_ going on there, if you get my meaning. I bet there's a lot more of that going on among Imperials than anyone realizes." Vilkas grunted, a look of distaste on his face. She raised her voice and went on, "Anyway, Susanna was the first. Seems the maniac was trying to build a new body for his sister, can you imagine? He was a damn necromancer and no one knew it. The crazy bastard got two more girls before the Dragonborn got back into town to clean up the mess, with the guards stretched thin as they were. Course one of the victims was an elf, so no great loss there, but I miss Susanna. She was a good girl."

"Aye, that she was," Vilkas said quietly. Elda went about fixing his dinner while he nursed a mug of ale, his mood even lower than before. Susanna _had_ been a good girl, quick to flirt but just as quick to slap your hand if you got too grabby with her. He never had figured out why she was called 'the Wicked'. She certainly wasn't easy, not that Nords cared all that much about that sort of thing. A woman's affections, or a man's, were hers or his to share or not as they pleased. It was a shame about Susanna. She had been lovely.

_I was beautiful!_

The Dragonborn's despairing cry rang out in Vilkas' head, making him shudder. He nodded in thanks to Elda as she placed a steaming bowl of stew in front of him, along with a thick slab of that morning's bread, spread generously with butter and honey. He wondered if the Dragonborn was even now trudging south through the snow, on his way back to High Hrothgar. He wondered how the hell the man had managed to limp his way down the Seven Thousand Steps. One painful step at a time, he supposed, and going up would be twice as hard. Well, if the Dragonborn had anything it was willpower. Vilkas wouldn't have been able to drag himself to his feet and fight a dragon with the horrendous injuries the man had claimed.

_He was my husband!_

Vilkas grumbled and rubbed his eyes, his war paint already a hopeless mess. He wondered if the Dragonborn had really considered the future when he had gone and married another man. It wasn't unheard of, but it seemed the Dragonborn had some sort of responsibility to produce children of his own blood, if the trait was hereditary as some claimed, though Vilkas had his doubts. Having a Dragonborn bloodline in the world again would be sure to keep the elves in their place, since it had all started to fall apart after the last Septim died. Some whispered that this Dragonborn was the Last, with a capital L, that Akatosh would not grace Man with the blood and soul of a dragon ever again. If so, that made it doubly important that he marry a woman and have children.

Vilkas supposed that the Dragonborn might be one of those men who just didn't like women at all. Severio Pelagia had been one of those men. The handsome Colovian had women all over Whiterun hold crying that he wouldn't give them the time of day, and then they'd wept when he'd died in the attack on Whiterun three years ago. Vilkas couldn't understand not liking women. It wasn't as if he hadn't dallied with other men in the past, the same as Farkas, but when a man got to be a certain age he wanted a family, a wife and children. It was the natural order of things. He and Farkas were running a little late in that regard at forty, forty-one in a couple months, but they just hadn't found the right opportunity yet. They had agreed when they were younger to marry together, buy a farm or run a business together with their wives, raise their children together. They had always been together, and always would be.

When he finished his meal and Elda showed him to his room, he asked, "Is there any chance of buying a bath?"

"Oh, I think I can manage that," Elda said with a nod. "Business is slow tonight. Five septims and it's yours."

"Deal."

"I'll go get it started for you."

Half an hour later he was sinking into a bath that wasn't quite as hot as he liked but more than adequate. It was one thing to go to sleep dirty when you were on the road, but he refused to get into a clean bed filthy. He washed quickly then sat there relaxing in the small stone tub. He leaned his head back on the edge and closed his eyes. It became apparent that was a mistake when the gruesome image of the Dragonborn's mess of a face danced across the back of his eyelids.

He shuddered and opened his eyes, staring at the wooden wall in front of him, feeling ill. He knew Danica wouldn't be able to help the man. She was the best healer anyone had ever seen, blessed by Kynareth, and had saved a Companion's life on more than one occasion, but she wasn't a miracle worker, though close to it. The twins had grown up with her as well, though she was a few years older, and they considered her a friend, and what was more she knew the secret of the Circle, so there was no one more trustworthy than her. He would make sure he delivered the letter first thing, and would go one bit extra and describe the Dragonborn's injuries to her in some effort to help, even if it ended up being futile. Like it or not, if what he had said about Sovngarde was true then everyone owed him. And there were still the vampires to be dealt with. Vilkas would have to make sure that the whelps started carrying extra potions with them for curing disease. It wouldn't do to have to put down a shield-brother or -sister over something preventable.

* * *

**Farkas – 23rd of Frostfall, 4E204**

Hearing heavy feet and the opening of his brother's door, Farkas hurried out of his own room. With relief he saw Vilkas set down his pack and start stripping off his armor, looking tired but undamaged in any way. Vilkas turned and gave him a nod, and Farkas patted him on the back then started helping him out of his armor, though he didn't really need the help. It was just what they did sometimes. Farkas asked, "So did you hear all that? While you were gone?"

Vilkas shook his head and murmured, "No. I was inside Uttering Hills Cave when the dragons called out."

"So you didn't hear…uh, the rest of it?" His twin frowned and shook his head again. "The uh, screaming. The Greybeards calling him."

"I…no. Ulfric told me about the dragons, and that Alduin is dead." He sighed heavily. "I was in Windhelm when he came. The Dragonborn. He stormed into the Palace of Kings and began shouting at Ulfric. Well, yelling at him rather."

"Why?" Vilkas grimaced, looking troubled. Troubled wasn't his brother's thing. Vilkas went through life with a certainty that Farkas often envied, though the arrogance and temper that went along with it weren't anything he wanted a part of.

"He saw his husband in Sovngarde. He was married to Ralof, the brother of the woman who owns the Riverwood lumber mill. No one knew he was married, but Ralof died in the Battle of Solitude and Ulfric didn't tell him. Ulfric hurried him off to fight Alduin and didn't want him distracted by his lover's death, thinking that was all they were. The Jarl clearly did not think it through. The Dragonborn was going to Sovngarde after all." Farkas looked stricken and Vilkas sighed heavily. "It gets worse." Farkas waited, his brow crinkled with worry, his stomach churning. "He was so upset about seeing Ralof there that he was nearly killed fighting Alduin. The dragon smashed up his left side, then it struck his helmet off and…ugh. It was terrible, truly terrible. His face is ruined, and he has no hair. It was all burned off, his whole head was…" He rubbed his face. "I keep seeing it in my dreams, and the things he said…"

"What…what did he say?" Farkas whispered past the lump in his throat. He was having trouble picturing just what Vilkas was describing, and he couldn't be sorry for it. His heart bled for the Dragonborn. It was so unfair. After everything he had done for Skyrim, and Ulfric, and this happens to him? As if it wasn't bad enough to lose his husband, he had to lose his face too?

"That he used to be beautiful, and Ulfric said that yes, he knew that. He said he was in pain all the time. He was limping heavily, on the left side. He said that he came back on top of the Throat of the World and laid there willing himself to die, and he nearly did before the Greybeards found and healed him, but the wounds were set by then. They saved his life but couldn't keep him from becoming disfigured." He tossed his cuirass on the bed and said, "So the screaming. It was him." He added quietly, "His voice was rough, as if his vocal cords had been damaged."

"Yeah. It was…it was the worst thing I've ever heard." And knowing all this, maybe it hadn't just been physical pain the Dragonborn had been screaming from. He hadn't realized the guy had been married. "I had no idea he was married." Or liked men. Farkas supposed there was no reason he couldn't; there had never been any rumors that the guy had taken up anyone on their offers of company, male or female. Probably because he had been married.

"He said they had been married for three years. I got the impression that they were rarely able to spend time together. He was looking forward to not going around masked, to living a normal life with his husband, and now he never can with a face like that, and he's a widower. He said he was returning to High Hrothgar and never coming back. It…is tragic." Vilkas bit at his lips then said in a wary tone, "The old man won't be happy to hear all this."

"I'm sure he already knows. He's in Ivarstead."

"Ivarstead! Why?"

"To see the Dragonborn. We were all outside when it happened. Kodlak went white as snow when he heard the screaming. He wanted to go to High Hrothgar but Skjor said he couldn't make the climb, so he took the old man to Ivarstead. I'm sure he saw the Dragonborn when he came down from High Hrothgar, or when he went back."

Vilkas frowned deeply and asked in a halting tone, "But…why? I don't get the Harbinger's interest in all this."

"Me neither, unless maybe the Dragonborn said he was going to join us." Vilkas sneered at that, his sympathy going only so far. "Well think about it. If people knew the Dragonborn was a Companion we would get more jobs."

"We will be getting more jobs. Ulfric and his housecarl said the Dawnguard would be sending work our way, with the Dragonborn out of commission. There are matters there beyond our ability to deal with, but we can deal with the rest. When Kodlak and Skjor return, one of us will take a couple of the whelps and see what this Isran fellow has to say. He is a former Vigilant of Stendarr."

Farkas said with worry, "What if he can tell what we are? We could end up exposing the Circle."

Vilkas shrugged. "I have come across Vigilants before in my travels and they have never acted suspicious." He pulled off his boots and added, "I think they would have more of a problem with the Dragonborn and that Daedric armor of his. They have no tolerance for Daedric artifacts." He made a huffing sound. "Though perhaps that will cease to be a problem, since the Dragonborn's armor was practically ruined. I don't know how the man lived. His injuries were horrific, and he said he still managed to kill Alduin even after that." Vilkas shuddered and went on, "He was so furious with Ulfric's deception that Jorleif feared he would try to kill the Jarl. He picked up that long feasting table and threw it across the room. The entire encounter was…monstrous."

The twins were silent for a few minutes as Vilkas continued to strip off his armor and the layers beneath it. Farkas finally ventured, "I wonder if Kodlak and Skjor waited around Ivarstead for the Dragonborn."

"Maybe so." Vilkas grumbled, "It annoys me that he confided in Skjor but refused to even discuss any of it with me. It's as if he doesn't trust me."

"Of course he trusts you. Everyone does. I wouldn't take it personally, brother. The old man's been kind of rattled since finding out he's sick. Everything has been unsettled the last few years with the war and dragons and everything. Maybe now that the war is over and Alduin gone everything will calm down."

"Excuse me, but the vampires? They are no trivial matter. The creatures burned down the Hall of the Vigilant and slaughtered everyone inside."

"Yeah, I know, but we can kill vampires. I've killed lots of them." He hated vampires. Despised them. The entire Circle did. Farkas usually took a live-and-let-live approach to most things, but not vampires.

"So have I, but there is more to it than that. The Dragonborn is supposed to read three Elder Scrolls to find something for the Dawnguard, some artifact or something. I don't know about you, but I cannot read even one."

"You know I can't read," Farkas said resentfully.

Vilkas slapped his hand to his face and said in annoyance, "That isn't what I meant! If a normal person reads an Elder Scroll they will go blind or lose their mind. The Dragonborn has to do it."

"Oh." As his twin went to find clean clothes to wear, Farkas asked, "Want to go on a hunt tonight? Weather looks like it will hold up." He could use the distraction. All this Dragonborn business was depressing. Upsetting. He wasn't sure now whether he was glad or not that he had never seen the man's face. If the guy had been handsome… Well, it didn't bear thinking about.

"Yeah, sure. Not too far though, with Kodlak and Skjor away. Where is Aela?"

Farkas shrugged. "I don't know. Probably out hunting again. Tilma wanted some rabbits for a stew."

"Just as long as she's back before we go out."

"I'm sure she will be." The lone female in the Circle preferred staying that way, alone, but if any of the males were out on a hunt at night and she was out there…well, it was better if it didn't happen too often. It was best if it didn't happen at all. Males were males, and she was a very independent female who didn't take kindly to unsolicited approaches unless it was her season, and even then it was something to be treated carefully; each encounter ran the risk of a permanent mating, and that was something the Circle couldn't allow, and something she had no interest in regardless, not just with her pack brothers but with anyone. The twins had both learned early on to not cross her, but it was hard to remember that on a hunt. The hunt was the now.

"Hello?" Farkas shook himself out of thoughts of running and rutting on the plains and met his twin's silvery-gray eyes. "Are all the whelps out back?" Vilkas repeated.

"Yeah."

"I want to put the new girl through her paces again tomorrow. What was her name, Ria?"

"Yeah, Arcadia's niece." He chuckled. "I don't think her parents imagined her joining the Companions when they sent her up here." He paused then added, "She's kind of cute."

"In the way children are cute," Vilkas said in disinterest. "She's tiny and talks too much. But she does have promise. If she makes it through the winter we can look at making her an official Companion. Even if the jobs are down, our numbers are low right now."

"Work will pick up soon. I guess it'll be kind of interesting to do stuff for the Dawnguard. Maybe the Dragonborn will get bored up on the mountain and come down some day."

"And if he does? He's a partial cripple. He's still strong and has the thu'um, but he's compromised. Any Companion with similar injuries would retire." Vilkas gathered up his clean clothes. "I took a letter from Ulfric to Danica, asking her help, but I don't see what she can do, and neither did she. Once a wound is healed that is the end of it. Bones can be broken and reset, but his damage is worse than that."

Farkas nodded sadly, trusting his brother's opinion on the matter. Vilkas read every book he could get his hand on, soaked up knowledge wherever he found it. Farkas had a fairly good memory, but then he had to; he never had been able to learn to read. He knew his alphabet and could write it, and he could sign his name to a contract, but that contract had to be read to him. His eyes scrambled up the words and made them nonsensical, something that had caused every tutor he'd had endless frustration. Eventually even Vilkas had given up, realizing it wasn't anything Farkas could help or control. Farkas didn't really care, having no interest in books anyway, but Vilkas' love of knowledge was a good thing. Every Companion was taught a basic level of field medicine, in case they ran out of healing potions on a job, and Vilkas was a very good field medic. If he didn't think the Dragonborn could be healed then he was probably right.

* * *

_**A/N: Kodlak and 'the rot'...my headcanon is that this is akin to cancer, as I treated it in my last story. This time it's in Kodlak's lungs. As werewolves the Circle is immune to disease, and I've always taken this to mean the communicable diseases (witbane, rockjoint, ataxia, bonebreak fever, etc.) that you can suffer from in the game and get cured at a shrine or with a potion.**_

_**I've also tried to make magical healing not so perfectly magical. I understand why you don't see people with missing limbs in the game due to the difficulties that would cause with the body maps and all that, but with all the fogged over (i.e. missing) eyes and facial scars you see it feels as if magical healing shouldn't be the fix-all that it is in the game, so I have put some limitations on it here; in this story wounds have to be treated with magic or potions within roughly half an hour or they 'set' and leave scars and permanent damage. Magical healing and its limitations will be an issue frequently in future chapters.**_

_**With regard to Farkas' inability to read in this story, I know I have vastly oversimplified dyslexia here, and it is not at all connected to Farkas' mental limitations, which I have made (and always will make) much milder than in the game. In the game the man can barely seem to count to potato, and I refuse to treat him that way in a story. I am very well aware that people with dyslexia tend to be very intelligent, and hope I don't cause any offense, as that is not my intent.**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Vilkas – 11th & 12th of Rain's Hand, 4E205**

"All right lass, are you ready for this?"

Njada's lip curled at Vilkas and she sneered, "You going to keep calling me that?"

"Sorry lad." She kept glaring at him, and Vilkas said in aggravation, "What do you want me to call you? Hey you…does that work?" He didn't bother waiting for what was bound to be an irritable response. By Ysmir, the girl was a bitch. He wasn't even certain why she had joined the Companions if she had intended to be so damn unpleasant and antisocial. Even Vilkas enjoyed spending time with his shield-siblings and didn't constantly give off rudeness. He stood up from where they were surveying the entrance to Chillwind Depths, saying to her, "If you cannot leave your attitude back at Jorrvaskr then you can stay there with it next time." It was silent long enough that he was certain she wasn't going to answer.

"Aye," she muttered.

He left it at that, resisting the urge to rub it in. It was difficult, and getting more difficult all the time. He had never had a particularly sunny disposition, but things lately had made it even harder to be pleasant. Still, he had promised Kodlak that he would stick with this, and he had.

Ever since meeting the Dragonborn, Kodlak had been restless, preoccupied, and had taken to writing in a journal, of all things. Kodlak had always been a man of action, not letters, so for him to do this was out of character. Gods knew what the old man was writing. Perhaps about that dream he'd had, that he had now seen fit to share with the entire Circle. He had dreamt of Sovngarde. The thing was, he'd had the dream weeks before the Dragonborn had shown up, weeks before Kodlak and Skjor had spent a few hours talking to the Dragonborn in Ivarstead before his return to High Hrothgar. Kodlak's vision of Sovngarde and Tsun had matched the Dragonborn's description of the place to a T. Knowing this had sent chills up Vilkas' spine. Sovngarde was real.

And worst of all…the Circle had not always been werewolves.

He felt a fresh wave of betrayal and anger surge through him as they crept into the cave. Kodlak had found evidence in the Companions' records that the Circle had not always carried the blood of the beast. The blood had only troubled the Companions for a few hundred years at the very most. A few hundred out of thousands. It was a curse, not a gift. The notion was absolutely enraging: some Harbinger at some point had made a deal with darker powers and had traded away the souls of every member of the Circle thereafter.

After telling the Circle this, Kodlak had suggested that they give up their transformations, of all things. Give up the hunt. Give up the peace that the now of beast thought brought to them. Aela and Skjor had looked at Kodlak like the old man was out of his mind. The beast ran strong in both of them, and neither saw any reason to fear going to the Hunting Grounds. Why not enjoy an eternity running down prey? Vilkas though agreed with Kodlak that it was not for everyone, and that the price they would end up paying would be higher than any of them could possibly guess until it was too late and death was staring them in the face. He knew his mythic histories, and in such bargains the mortal was always the one who came out on the raw end of the deal.

He had enjoyed being a werewolf, no doubt about it. Some of his warmest memories were hunting with his twin on the plains of Whiterun, feasting on a fresh kill then returning to human form and flopping out under the stars to talk quietly, sometimes to watch the aurora when it appeared. He enjoyed running as a pack with the others, though Aela rarely joined them, solitary as she was. He had thoroughly enjoyed every spring when her season came upon her and she was in one of her rare receptive moods, something that was already overdue, and the entire pack had come together with her then lay in a tangle in the grass. It had felt like family. Belonging.

And yet he had always had a faint, nagging concern in the back of his mind over the lack of a real family. A wife and children. Part of the reason he and Farkas hadn't yet married at their advanced age was fear of their wives and children finding out about the beastblood. It was a very valid concern and the reason why those in the Circle rarely if ever married. Aela's father Astvar had known what her mother was but they had never married and Aela's mother Gislun had never considered leaving Jorrvaskr. Vilkas didn't particularly want that either, and neither did Farkas, but they had both agreed long ago to wanting families, or barring all else at least _a_ family, together. It wouldn't be easy to find a woman who would accept what they were, and if by some chance they did Vilkas had nothing against sharing a wife with his brother. They had shared Aela every spring for the last nearly fifteen years, and the occasional lover when they were on jobs together, so sharing a wife was not a problem, and he was sure a woman wouldn't find it one either, and the children would be theirs together, since as identical twins there would be no telling whose children were whose anyway. It wasn't Vilkas' preference, but at this point beggars couldn't be choosers.

Well, at forty-one the odds of finding the women or woman were slim to none, unless Kodlak was somehow able to find a cure. The old man seemed certain of it, but time was slipping away, and Vilkas resented that he was now so aware of it. The thing he had once enjoyed now seemed like a sentence. Every sleepless night was now a burden, something to endure that could no longer be dealt with by a quick change and run on the plains. Farkas was still doing it, still undecided about what to do, and Vilkas was trying not to pressure him about it and let him come to his own decision for once as Kodlak had demanded. Farkas tried to be discreet about it, but it was impossible to hide when he came in smelling of grass and meadow flowers and the wind, looking tired but happy. Now Vilkas was just tired.

Njada held her own well enough as they made their way through the cave, though she had resumed her bitching the moment her feet got wet. They came back out with not only the Dawnguard Rune Shield they had been sent for by Florentius Baenius, the eccentric priest of Arkay who was working with Isran, but also were loaded down with very valuable chaurus eggs and falmer ears, rare ingredients that Arcadia would pay a pretty septim for. It would be more convenient to sell between here and Whiterun, but the alchemist had done many favors for the Companions over the years and was their main source of potions, and it always paid to know which side your bread was buttered on.

"So we're going to carry this shit halfway across Skryim?" Njada growled. They had left the horses in Rorikstead since this was partly a training mission on living off the land and managing with just what you could carry on your back.

"Yes. Shut up."

"It stinks!"

"So do you! I said shut it!" She glared furiously at him and he pulled his helmet off and ran his fingers back through his greasy hair. He took a deep breath and said in a tense voice, "It does not matter how well you fight if you behave in such an unprofessional manner on a job. Your comments were a constant distraction and you brought the enemy down on us several times. Creatures who live in caves are sensitive to sound and the walls bounce that sound about. Remember this if you wish to keep working with me."

"Well maybe I don't."

"At this rate you will have _no_ shield-siblings left who will work with you." He hoisted the shield onto his back and made sure his gear was secured then started walking, not particularly caring if she followed or not, and after about ten seconds he heard her behind him.

She stayed blessedly silent the rest of the afternoon and evening, even during rest breaks, and when they reached Dragon Bridge and he rented two rooms and she still said nothing he realized she was trying to get to him by ignoring him. Well that was fine by him. He much preferred it this way, and he'd be damned if he took her with him again. Skjor and Torvar had gone after the first Dawnguard artifact, the Rune Axe, and Farkas and Athis the second, the Rune Hammer. Vilkas would take Ria with him next time and hope that the job was a simple one. The girl was green as could be but eager, and a pleasant traveling companion. Njada's skill with a shield didn't make up for her rotten temperament.

The next evening saw them nearly to Rorikstead and still the girl hadn't spoken a word. There was no way in hell Vilkas was going to speak first. He'd burn in Oblivion before he gave her the satisfaction. He would—

"Oh shit!"

Vilkas smirked to himself and turned to look at Njada, only to see that she had dropped her sack of alchemy ingredients in the muddy road and was pulling out her shield and Skyforge steel sword as she stared in horror at the road behind them. He raised his eyes and his heart went into his throat at the sight of a dragon silently gliding towards them. "Bows," he hissed. She quickly complied, for once without any backtalk or snide comments. He barely had time to nock an arrow before the creature flew over them, blasting them with a cone of ice that chilled them both to the bone. He had always wanted to go up against one of the beasts, but he was tired from traveling and they were nearly out of healing potions.

The creature roared and wheeled about for another pass, and Vilkas lined up his shot and took it, hitting the dragon in the belly, making it roar again in rage. Njada was trying to aim and failing miserably, her hands shaking as she raised the bow, and he grit his teeth and yelled at her, "Get off the road!" She glanced at him, her eyes wide with terror, and he waved her up the hill. "Get behind an outcropping!" She sprinted away and disappeared. He wanted to curse her for being a coward, but it would have been unfair of him. She had been a full Companion for years now, close to five, but none of them had ever had to face anything like this. The dragons tended to limit themselves to certain areas and didn't attack towns unless the Dragonborn was nearby, and he had been living in seclusion in High Hrothgar for close to six months now. This creature seemed to have been heading straight for Rorikstead. No dragons had been sighted at more than a distance in the mountains since the Dragonborn had returned from Sovngarde. Vilkas couldn't understand what had brought this one out of hiding now. Just his rotten luck, he supposed.

He landed another shot, this time in the dragon's neck as it prepared to freeze him again. He was as good at archery as he was everything else, but he knew he was outclassed here. He distantly heard the cries of Whiterun hold guards who had finally noticed the battle, but they were too far away to help, the town lights barely visible from here. He shot the beast again and it roared then landed, glaring at him with pure, murderous evil in its eyes. It came after him on the ground and he tossed the bow aside and pulled his great-sword. The Dragonborn's words came back to him about Alduin's tail, and he kept a close eye on this one. He was stuck between two massive dangers here, but at least he had more leeway with the dragon's head.

A wave of relief rushed through him as the sound of hooves sounded, a single horse from what he could tell, then he heard booted feet hit the ground nearby.

"_KRII LUN AUS!"_

Vilkas yelled, recoiling from the thundering shout right next to him. The dragon's hide crawled with sickly purple light as it started to writhe and moan. He spared a glance and saw what had to be the Dragonborn about ten feet away. He wore ebony armor that looked new, and a malachite mask with a hood. He was armed with the same enchanted katana as before. He limped toward the dragon, zapping it with a stream of lightning, and Vilkas shook himself and ran at the creature's head while it was distracted by the Dragonborn.

The dragon looked to be visibly weakening before Vilkas' eyes, and he slammed his sword into the beast's neck. It swung its head about and knocked him onto his back, making the air rush out of his lungs. He groaned and hauled himself to his feet again and readied himself for another strike. He didn't get the chance, the Dragonborn bracing himself and shouting again at the dragon's flank.

"_YOL TOOR SHUL!"_

Vilkas stared in disbelief as fire boiled out of the mask, seeming to materialize out of thin air, since there was no way it could have come through the thin slit that was the mask's mouth. The dragon flailed about, rearing up on its legs, and Vilkas rolled out of the way as a wing swept towards him, leaving a draft of rich, spicy smell in its wake. It fell to the ground and burst into flames, but to his shock the flames were cold and didn't give off any heat. The carcass was quickly consumed with a crackling sound, then thunder boomed as ribbons of light began streaming towards the Dragonborn.

"I'll be damned," Vilkas whispered in amazement. Never in his life had he imagined witnessing the man absorb a soul. The Dragonborn stood there and accepted it, unflinching, and when the process was over he turned and stared at Vilkas, the mask blank and expressionless.

"Well. Isn't this a lovely fucking coincidence." The Dragonborn's voice was rough and gravelly, his tone curt. Irritated. Cold.

Vilkas climbed to his feet and the two men stared at each other, or at least Vilkas assumed the man was returning his gaze. The Dragonborn then held his palm out to Vilkas and poured healing magic into him. Vilkas sighed in relief, not even realizing he had been wounded. Feeling awkward, something he was very unused to, Vilkas said, "I thought you were still up on the mountain."

"I left two weeks ago."

He hesitated, then forged ahead and asked, "Why?"

"They ran out of mead."

Vilkas snorted at that, though he didn't smile. The Dragonborn rotated his left shoulder then let his arm fall, making a soft sound of discomfort. He slowly turned away and limped over to the dragon skeleton. Vilkas found himself following, unwillingly fascinated. "I might have died if not for your assistance," he said in a grudging tone.

"It wouldn't have shown up to begin with if I hadn't been nearby."

"Was it heading for Rorikstead?"

"I wasn't in Rorikstead." His tone turned sour as he added, "I've been _trying_ to keep a low profile."

Vilkas frowned and countered in disbelief, "You really think you can do that?"

"I've managed so far."

"Where did you get the new armor?" Vilkas had never seen ebony armor quite like it. The pauldrons were smaller, more rounded, the gauntlets slimmer, overall looking lighter than standard ebony, if there was such a thing as standard ebony.

"I found it, piece by piece over the years. I altered the fit, made a few other changes."

"When?"

"Why does it matter?" the Dragonborn retorted. Vilkas stiffened, his expression going flat, and the Dragonborn sighed. "Before, all right? I did it…before. As a spare. The Daedric armor was causing problems. Bothering people. And it was heavy. I can't…manage that now."

Vilkas murmured, "I am sorry."

The Dragonborn sputtered and turned away. "Sure you are."

"If I say I am then I am," he replied angrily. "I am sorry for your loss."

"Why? My loss is your gain, right? You Companions have been working for the Dawnguard. I'm sure it galls Isran, having to pay you people to do all the shit I used to do for free."

"How do you know, if you've been up on the mountain all this time?"

"_King_ Ulfric puts a letter into every supply drop. I'm sure he thought he was being real subtle when the last shipment didn't have any liquor in it. Prick." He made a sound of frustration and waved his hand at the massive skeleton in the road. "Take what you want. I'm not lugging that shit around."

Vilkas let the matter drop, hearing such intense bitterness in the other man's voice that it was caustic. He stayed silent and watched the Dragonborn gather purple magic in his right hand that made Vilkas bristle, then he stifled a gasp when the man threw it into the road and a skeletal horse appeared, burning with bluish-purple fire. The Dragonborn limped to it, whispering soothing words to the thing's skull as he stroked it, as if it were a living horse, then he climbed onto its bony back. Vilkas shivered at the dreadfulness of it and felt a wave of relief as the man galloped off into the dusk, away from Rorikstead.

He went for his sword when he saw movement to his left, and he slammed it back into its scabbard when he saw it was Njada. She stared at the dragon skeleton with a tense expression, and he resisted the urge to bark at her. "Help me gather some bones and scales," he demanded tersely. "They're probably valuable. And they're probably heavy as well, so I don't want to hear any of your bitching about it."

"Fine," she said quietly. Maybe even respectfully. Better late than never.

As they neared Rorikstead the guards ran up to him and started peppering him with questions, and he answered them truthfully while leaving out what he could. There would be no doing that with Kodlak when he got home. Njada would tell everyone that the Dragonborn had finally reappeared after all this time and Kodlak would want the details. He would know if Vilkas left anything out. The old man could see right through people, could look into your eyes and know if you were lying or leaving anything out, and Vilkas wasn't immune to that.

The Harbinger hadn't been the same since the Dragonborn had come along. He had returned from Ivarstead several days after Vilkas' return from Windhelm, and he had been so deeply upset that he had retreated into his quarters for two days, only allowing Skjor and Tilma in. When he had finally opened his doors again and called for Vilkas, he had asked for a full report of what had happened in Windhelm, and Vilkas had given it unflinchingly, leaving out nothing. The old man had listened with an expression of stone. He probably would this time too. Vilkas wondered if Kodlak would be relieved at all to hear that the Dragonborn had returned, presumably to resume his duties. He supposed that was now all that the Dragonborn had left, depressing as the thought was.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Happy Holidays to everyone!**_

* * *

**Farkas – 10th & 11th of Heartfire, 4E205**

Farkas raised his nose to the wind and breathed deeply, feeling a wistful pleasure as the night breeze brought him the scent of prairie flowers and dry grass. He could hear the crickets singing and the calls of elk below the two moons that hung full and heavy over Whiterun. It was the perfect night for a hunt. He just wished he had someone to share it with.

He sighed and shucked off the last of his clothes then bent down and let the transformation come over him, gritting his teeth against the sudden intense pain that filled his chest then spread outward. It wouldn't last, and the pleasure that came after was more than worth it.

Fully changed, he breathed in the smells again, ten times as intense…dry earth, sweet grass, lavender and tundra cotton, the White River, smoke. The colors washed out into a thousand shades of gray, black and white, but everything was clearer, and he could see farther out past the farms onto the plains from the hidden entrance to the Skyforge. He huffed, his limited thoughts vaguely wishing at least one of his packmates were here, but he hunted mostly alone these days.

It had been nearly a year since Kodlak had given up his transformations, though he was so sick now that he was practically bedridden. Aela and Skjor uncharitably thought that his illness would improve if he changed, which Farkas even with his lack of smarts knew was bullshit. Aela and Skjor had been acting odd lately, too. Mysterious. They had been hunting together often, spending sometimes two or three days at a time away from Jorrvaskr. Kodlak had stopped confiding in Skjor, and Skjor had made no secret of his disappointment in his old friend and his growing lack of confidence in his leadership. Aela found Kodlak's stance on the beastblood confusing and sad, much as she loved the old man. Skjor did too, like a brother, but even brothers could have a falling out.

Farkas' own brother was proof of that. Vilkas was so grouchy and tense all the time now that Farkas could hardly stand to be around him. He kept pestering Farkas to give up the hunt, but how could Farkas do that when he saw what the lack of it was doing to his twin? Why should he suffer like that? Still, Farkas was torn as to what to do. Kodlak had been very clear about Sovngarde's pleasures, which sounded more up Farkas' alley than chasing game for an eternity without rest. And it would be nice to get a really good night's sleep again. And not be distracted all the time thinking about the hunt. Vilkas and Kodlak were pretty convincing.

He ran around then down the hill, in the direction of the elk he had heard. It was late summer and the rut was in full swing. The meat might be a bit gamy because of it, but he didn't mind, and it would make the bulls edgy but stupid. He didn't need a bull though. A cow would be more than enough for just him. Because he was all alone.

Raising his muzzle to the moons, Farkas howled sadly, and his only answer was a pack of wild wolves some distance away. They wouldn't trouble him; they steered clear of the Circle even in human form, able to smell their nature even then. He was glad that his brother couldn't hear him back at Jorrvaskr, with Vilkas gone on a job. How he missed hunting with Vilkas. His twin was not only his brother but his best friend, and Farkas knew he felt a bit betrayed by Farkas' reluctance to give up his transformations. Maybe Farkas could give it a try, just for a while. See if it was manageable or turned him into a surly bastard like it was doing to his brother. It would mean a lot to both Vilkas and Kodlak. The old man didn't have more than another three months left in him according to Danica. Maybe Farkas could do it for that long, until the old man was gone. Give him some peace at the end of his life.

The elk weren't where Farkas expected, and he lifted his nose to the breeze and sniffed, perking up his ears to pick up where they had gone. He couldn't hear their calls at all anymore. There was a light smell here and the grass was trampled, as if the herd had been here earlier in the evening, but there was no telling where they had gone. The breeze was coming from the south, so unless they had gone that way—

The twang of a bowstring and the whistle of an arrow through the air were all the warning he got.

Farkas roared in pain as an arrow buried itself in his ribs, and the intense burning told him it was tipped with silver. He began to run blindly, his only thought to get away from his attackers. _Silver Hand,_ he thought in a panic, unable to think any more deeply than that. They must have stayed upwind of him, and alone he was vulnerable. Another arrow sank into his upper back and he yowled and had enough presence of mind to drop to the ground, flattening himself in the tall grass.

"Where'd the mutt go?"

"He's around here somewhere. We got two good shots in. Keep your ears open. The dogs are heavy breathers."

Farkas bared his teeth, clamping them together to keep a whimper from escaping. The silver had set his flesh on fire, making it hard to think, and it was hard enough as it was in this state. The silver was keeping him from changing back to human form, but if he changed back he would be defenseless. Clawless. Fangless. Dead.

Well, he was going to die anyway. He knew that with total, depressing certainty. But he would at least take some of the bastards out with him. As the crunch of a dozen footsteps in the dry grass grew nearer he braced himself, sparing a vague grieving thought for his twin. If he had given up the hunt it never would have come to this. He held his breath as best he could, waiting for one of his hunters to come close enough.

He roared to his feet and swiped his claws across a woman's belly, spilling her guts onto the ground. Her comrades backed away, silver weapons shining in the bright moonlight as they formed a circle around him. One darted at him and slashed, and he knocked the weapon away, but not without getting cut across the palm. Another ran in and cut across the back of his right leg, and he went mad with the burning pain. Farkas lashed out around him, feeling intense satisfaction as his claws caught flesh and his mouth closed on limbs and necks. But there were too many. Well, he would go to the Hunting Grounds tonight proud of taking half a dozen of the bastards out with him.

He was on his knees, feeling another blow across his back that drove him all the way to the ground, and he gave up, in too much pain to fight back, too weak with blood loss. He laid there waiting for the killing blow and couldn't do more than growl weakly as a booted foot nudged his head.

"What d'you think? Take it back or finish it off?"

"Eh, better we just kill it. Look how big the son of a bitch is. Seven feet tall if he's an inch." There was a low whistle of amazement.

"Might be one of the twins. The big dumb one."

"Doesn't matter which one he is. Just take his head off for a trophy and call it a night. That's what it gets for hunting alone, the stupid bastard."

"Wish we could figure out how they're getting in and out of the city."

"We'll have to keep a closer eye on the redheaded bitch and old one eye. They're bound to slip up eventually."

"Maybe we should see if we can get this one to change back and talk. _Make_ him talk. This is the first Circle mutt we've gotten our hands on."

"He won't talk. You're new, you don't get the way the dogs feel about their packs. He'll die before he talks. Just finish the—"

Farkas squeezed his eyes shut, panting, waiting for the killing blow. Instead he heard a gurgle and the scraping sound of steel on bone, followed by cries of alarm from the other Silver Hands. He lifted his head, blinking blood out of his eyes. He squinted, unable to lift his head far, but far enough to watch the perplexing sight of a girl in leather armor whirling through the hunters, cutting them down effortlessly one by one with a steel great-sword that crackled with lightning before any of them could defend themselves. Her long braid flew behind her like a banner, though he couldn't tell what color her hair was.

He laid his head back down, too weak to keep it up, in so much pain he could hardly bear to take a breath. The night grew silent, and he heard a faint groan nearby that was silenced by the stroke of a weapon. He heard the sound of the sword being cleaned off on something, probably one of the hunters, then the scraping sound of it being replaced in its scabbard. Then light footsteps in the grass, halting just out of his reach. Then the creak of leather and the snap of a knee as the girl squatted down.

"I won't hurt you."

Oh. Not a girl. The voice was soft and slightly high-pitched but obviously not a girl's. He'd never known a man to have long hair like that. Elven guys sometimes did, but they were girly sometimes anyway, and this guy had a Nord accent. Farkas stayed still, breathing unevenly, unable to help a whine of pain from escaping.

"It's all right, wolf," the voice soothed. "I can heal you, but the arrows have to come out first. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Farkas managed a nod. Of course he understood. The Circle weren't ordinary feral werewolves. He felt the tentative touch of a hand on the back of his paw.

"Easy now, big guy," the stranger murmured. The hand moved to Farkas' shoulder then he heard the hiss of sucked in breath. "Hircine's hairy balls," he muttered. "They really fucked you up, didn't they?" Farkas whined in assent. "All right, brace yourself."

Farkas let out a moan of pain as the arrow was ripped out of his back, and even if he was inclined to fight he couldn't. He just didn't have anything left in him. He felt another pang of agony as the arrow in his ribs was removed, but at least it was a clean pain now that the silver was gone. The change came over him before he could stop it, his body contorting and rippling, the pain nothing compared to everything else. Soothing warmth flowed through him and the agony retreated inch by inch until it was gone. He was still too weak to move though. Healing couldn't replace blood loss. He was so tired all he wanted to do was lie there in the bloody grass and go to sleep.

"Oh no you don't. Come on, Farkas. You've got to get up. Work with me here."

"Too tired," he whispered. "W-wait, how do you know my name?"

"I'll tell you when I get you back to my camp. It isn't real far." Farkas groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows, and he felt the man's gloved hands slide under him and start pulling upward. The man was surprisingly strong for someone Farkas had taken to be a girl. "Whew, you stink, buddy. Like a wet dog." Farkas grunted, knowing that all too well. The man got him to his feet then put his arm around his waist to hold him up. "Come on, big guy. Not very far."

It wasn't easy making his way across the plain, uneven as it was, dotted with rocks. They stopped at a small stream so that Farkas could get a deep drink and wash off, and he felt his face grow warm as he saw the other man's eyes glittering as he watched him. Farkas' vision in human form wasn't any better than a normal man's, but the moons were out. The man cleared his throat and looked away, folding his arms, and Farkas studied him as best he could in the moonlight. Which wasn't all that well. The man wasn't tall, maybe five-ten at best, average size for any human race but Nord. Maybe he was Breton but had been raised here, and that was why he sounded Nord. His hair was pulled back from his face into a braid that reached his waist, and he wore leather armor that one could buy anywhere, and it looked fairly new except for the blood splattered all over it. The pommel of the steel great-sword poked up over one shoulder.

Farkas didn't ask any of the dozen questions on the tip of his tongue, too tired to form the words. He got up out of the water, and when he nearly toppled over in a wave of dizziness the stranger hurried forward and caught him then wordlessly started walking with him again.

The stranger's camp came into sight after what seemed like an eternity…a small banked fire and bedroll under a rock overhang, on the back side of the hill that Whiterun sat on, Dragonsreach looming overhead. Farkas and his brother had sheltered here before on hunts when it rained, the two of them sitting together watching the rain fall. It was frequently occupied by bandits but didn't seem to have been recently. The stranger laid him down and pulled the top of the bedroll over him and Farkas sank into it with a sigh, closing his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Sure."

"What…what's your…"

Next thing he knew it was morning, and he rubbed his eyes and squinted up at the rock ceiling overhead. He stared at it in confusion, so weak and tired he could barely open his eyes. He could feel the fire next to him but he felt a shiver of cold go through him. He heard the creak of leather and turned his head, causing a wave of dizziness to go through him. He turned onto his side with a groan and squeezed his eyes shut, his head spinning.

"You need to eat something."

"Can't," Farkas whispered. He shivered with cold, even though he knew he shouldn't be cold. He could feel the warmth of the fire and the fur lining of the bedroll but it still wasn't enough.

"You lost a lot of blood. I healed all your wounds and restored your stamina, but I can't fix the blood loss." Farkas felt the man sit on the edge of the bedroll and put a hand to his forehead, Nord-warm and calloused. "Mm, you're cold," he said with concern. "Clammy. We need to get you back to Jorrvaskr and into a real bed."

"Who are you?" The idea that this guy knew his name and where he was from was suddenly terrifying.

"Just an adventurer. You're lucky I was out here."

"_Why_ are you out here?" he asked suspiciously. He heard a chuckle, though it wasn't as light-hearted it seemed the man was trying to make it.

"Can't a guy enjoy a warm summer's night under the moons, no questions asked?"

"No." Heard a truer laugh at that, though it quickly ended, like the guy wasn't used to laughing. "What's your name?" The other man hesitated, as if debating whether to answer. Farkas cracked an eye open and looked up at him, and the first thing he saw was patches of shining, puckered pink scar tissue on the man's right cheek. A young man. He seemed young anyway; his face youthful, with bright green eyes shining out of thick lashes that curled upwards slightly, and a small but full mouth, the lips pursed thoughtfully. His hair though was liberally streaked with pure white, the rest of it a color just between blond and brown, the entire effect making Farkas absurdly think of a sweetroll with icing. Maybe he was hungry after all.

The young man looked down at him as if feeling Farkas' inspection, searching Farkas' eyes as if looking for something, and the other side of his face was mostly undamaged, though another scar ran across the bridge of his nose. By Dibella the guy was pretty, now that he could see his entire face, and when he smiled slightly with those big, grass-green eyes Farkas felt a flutter in the pit of his gut that had nothing to do with hunger. At least not for food. Well he sure wasn't in any condition to do much about that.

"Edric," the young man finally murmured, then he blew out a long breath as he turned his gaze back towards the plains. "Edric," he repeated softly, as if to himself. "That's my name."

"How do you know who I am?"

"I've run into the Silver Hand a few times in my travels. Thought I was dealing with bandits only to find gory trophies and caged werewolves. Also found a lot of documentation. Letters written back and forth between their leaders. Journals. Sorry, but I know about the Circle. Can't be helped." He looked back down at Farkas, who stared back with a frown, his silver eyes wary. Edric held up his hand, and Farkas squinted at the ring there then his eyes widened in shock. "You aren't the first werewolf I've helped out of a jam."

"That's the Ring of Hircine," he whispered reverently. "But you aren't…one of us." The wolf's head ring only worked for werewolves, letting them control their urges, or so it was said. Farkas had never laid eyes on it, thinking it was more a legend than anything else.

"No, but it's a nice ring." He shrugged, looking away from Farkas. "I…thought about joining the Companions. I can't pretend that I don't know what you are, the five of you. I thought if I showed up wearing the ring that it would prove I had good intentions. Didn't mean any of you any harm."

Farkas nearly laughed at the thought of a young man his size doing any harm to the Circle, then he remembered the previous night and how Edric had taken down half a dozen Silver Hand before they knew what hit them. He nodded and said, "You would make a good addition to the Companions. It isn't an easy life, but it's a good one. Least I think so." The dizziness was gone, for now, and when he struggled to sit up Edric helped him, steadying him when he wobbled a bit.

"Think you can eat now? I made venison stew."

"When?"

"Last night. I got a deer right before I set camp." He reached off to his left and grabbed a bottle of Nord mead.

Farkas watched Edric pop the cork off and drink down a third of the bottle within ten seconds, something that even someone as big as Farkas would be hard-pressed to do. "Uh…little early for that, isn't it?"

"Not really. I haven't been to sleep yet, so really it isn't morning for me, is it?" He held the bottle out to Farkas, who shook his head. Edric set the bottle aside then picked up a bowl of stew that had been set aside to cool and handed it to Farkas. As he stuck the spoon in it he saw Farkas still staring at him with a worried expression, and he waved him off as he picked back up the bottle. "Don't worry, big guy. I'm a veteran. I never let drink get in the way of doing my job."

"Okay. None of my business, I guess. You seem like you can handle yourself."

"That I can. Been doing it a long time." He motioned to Farkas' bowl. "Eat up. I'm pretty strong for my size, but I can't get you back to Whiterun until you're on your feet." He ran his eyes over Farkas' body then quickly looked away again. "Where did you leave your clothes?"

Farkas didn't miss the tension in Edric's voice. He pulled the flap of the bedroll over his lap in as casual a manner as possible. "Inside the Un…uh…"

"Underforge. Got it." Farkas sighed heavily, looking troubled. Edric quietly said, "I went to a hell of a lot of trouble to save your life, wolf. I stayed awake all night to make sure the Silver Hand wasn't still sniffing around. Either you trust me or you don't."

"Okay," Farkas said with a nod. "I trust you, Edric." It would be kind of ridiculous not to after everything the guy had done. He was rewarded with a smile and shining eyes that warmed him better than the stew and the fire did. Gods, the guy was pretty. Farkas had never seen eyes so perfectly green except in elves, and even then it wasn't quite the same color green. He looked at Edric's hair and asked, "How old are you, anyway?"

"Because of the hair? I'm going to be thirty in a few weeks. I started going white at seventeen. Runs in the family. And you?"

Farkas wrinkled his nose. "Eh, forty-one. Old." He ran his fingers back through his dark hair. "Guess I should be glad I don't have more gray than I do." He had a few gray hairs here and there, same as Vilkas. Not bad for their age. "So you really think you want to join the Companions?"

Edric shrugged as he took a long drink. He swallowed and stared out across the rolling plains as he mumbled, "It isn't really a matter of wanting to. Have to, I guess."

"Why? That doesn't make any sense."

"I promised someone I would do it, eventually. I keep my promises. Mostly."

"Mostly."

"Don't worry. The only promises I can never seem to keep are the ones I make to myself." He motioned towards the city above them. "Think anyone will come out looking for you? Someone must be worried."

"Vilkas is out on a job with Torvar and Ria. Aela and Skjor are off doing something, gods know what. Kodlak's nearly bedridden these days. I uh, don't think anyone knows I'm gone." Edric shook his head in disapproval. "I know, I should've told someone. Believe me, I'm never hunting alone again." He huffed and added in a mutter, "I'm probably _never_ hunting at all ever again."

"Why's that?"

Farkas took a bite of stew and chewed it, wondering what more he should tell him, then he figured it couldn't get any worse at this point. "Kodlak wants to be cured. So does Vilkas."

"Huh. And you?"

"I like being a…werewolf." There, he had just come out and said it. "It feels good, you know? Well no, you don't, how could you? But I like it. The hunt I mean. It hurts to change, but only for a minute, then you can run free and smell everything and see in the dark and just not think about anything. Not that I have that problem, not like my brother does. Vilkas is always thinking about stuff. Skjor says he has the brains of Ysgramor, but I have his strength."

"Yeah, I can see that."

The strange tone of voice made Farkas frown as he set down the bowl of stew. He watched Edric rub his eyes then take another long drink of mead, draining the bottle, then he looked at it as if he wanted to throw it but then carefully set it aside. "You okay?" Farkas asked in concern.

"Not really, but thanks for asking."

"You look tired. You should lie down and sleep."

"One bedroll."

"We can share. I'll keep my hands to myself, I promise." Edric glanced at him, looking tense, his green eyes flicking over Farkas then away again, suddenly looking like he was going to cry. "You're sad." He wasn't smart, but he was good with people. He could tell Edric was an honorable person. An unhappy person, but an honorable one. Edric wouldn't have gone to all this trouble if he wasn't.

"I'm always sad. Some days are just better than others."

Farkas saw him reach over for his pack, and he growled, "Don't get another bottle, Edric. Just lay down and I won't get grabby or anything."

"You keep saying that."

"You're uh…well, you look…nice. Good, I mean. Really good." Edric's eyebrows rose then he snorted a laugh and shook his head. Farkas' cheeks grew warm as he slid back down into the bedroll. "I wouldn't come onto you if you're sad. Maybe you don't go that way, but I saw you look at me. If I wasn't weak I'd be more interested, but I doubt I could really do anything about it right now anyway."

Edric licked his lips, looking uncertain, then he pushed the bowl of stew out of the way and laid down next to Farkas on top of the bedroll, dragging his sword over to lay in front of him within easy reach. Farkas heard him take in a quiet, shuddering breath, huddled in on himself, and he resisted the urge to put his arm over Edric and hold him. Vilkas often chided him for his tender heart, but he couldn't stand seeing people hurt or sad. Edric seemed hurt _and_ sad. Lonely. Well, perversely enough that would probably be enough to keep Farkas out of his pants. He didn't take advantage.

"I wouldn't have guessed. That you like men."

The soft statement made Farkas laugh quietly. "People usually don't."

"What about your brother?"

"Well no, he's fairly straight. He fooled around with guys once in a while when we were young, but then he stopped and I didn't."

"Does he know that?"

Farkas sheepishly replied, "No. Least I don't think he does." He sighed and burrowed deeper into the bedroll, shivering as a chill went through him. "When Vilkas and I were young we decided we were going to find wives together, have babies together and raise them together. He still wants that, but…we aren't kids anymore and I… just…never ended up liking women as much as he does. Well, at all, really. I've never had the heart to tell him. I mean, I'd like to get married and have kids someday. I like kids. I'm good with kids." Too many people liked to say it was because he was a big kid, but he wasn't. Not even close. He sighed and went on, "But being what we are makes it hard. Dangerous. We can control ourselves better than ordinary werewolves, but it takes a lot of control, especially, uh, in bed. It's hard not to get rough, or bite and growl. Living with someone all the time, in close quarters like that…it would make it more likely that they'd find out. Kodlak thinks he's close to finding a cure, but he's been really sick lately."

"So I've heard."

"Yeah, it's probably gotten around. Danica keeps him as comfortable as she can, but there's only so much she can do." Kodlak had deteriorated so much over the last year that Danica didn't think he would live much past the end of the year. The rot was eating him alive from the inside out. Danica had tried explaining to Farkas that it wasn't a disease you could catch from anywhere, that it was basically one's own body attacking itself. It was so far over Farkas' head that he had just nodded and taken her word for it. If she said so that was good enough for him, especially when Vilkas was saying the same thing.

He felt Edric nod, but the younger man was quiet, for so long Farkas thought he had fallen asleep. Farkas was nearly asleep himself when he heard, "So what's it like being a Companion? Living in Jorrvaskr?"

"They're my family," Farkas murmured sleepily. "Lived there my whole life. It's hard sometimes. Dealing with Vilkas' snottiness or Aela's temper, or how stern Skjor can be, and then you've got all the whelps and their personalities, but we're a family, and Kodlak's like our pa. We take care of each other. If you join up you'll become family too."

"Sounds nice. Maybe I will."

"Good. I'm going to sleep now."

Edric laughed softly. "Okay, Farkas."

When Farkas next awoke the sun was high overhead, and he stared at the unfamiliar head in front of him, finding his nose buried in the brown and white hair. At some point he had taken his arm out of the bedroll and thrown it over the person he was spooning with. Edric, he reminded himself. He debated moving, hearing the deep, even breathing that told him the other man was still asleep. The curl of Edric's slender body fit perfectly inside Farkas', his rump snuggled into Farkas' groin. He wrestled with the sudden intense need for a moment, and he was about to move away when a subtle scent finally registered with him. Something warm and spicy.

It tickled at his memory, and he chased it for a few minutes until it finally came to him: cinnamon. It smelled like the cinnamon that Tilma had put in the twins' porridge when they were little. He hadn't had it in over thirty years, since trade with Elsweyr was disrupted and the spice became impossible to get, but it hit him now with a sweet familiarity that made him bury his nose in further and breathe deeply. The spicy smell was mixed with the scent of leather armor and male sweat, and the combination was so enticing he couldn't help letting out a low growl of arousal. He definitely felt better now.

"Well isn't this cozy." Farkas lifted his head in alarm as Edric stirred, and to his wild relief it was Aela. The Huntress could move in perfect silence when she had a mind to. He hadn't heard a thing. He sat up on his elbow and saw Skjor standing about thirty feet away, keeping watch. She smirked at him and squatted down on the other side of the dead fire. "You find bedmates in the strangest places, brother."

"It isn't how it looks," he said in embarrassment. He felt Edric push his arm away and roll to his feet, and Farkas sat up, only to see Aela glance down at his lap and quirk a red eyebrow.

"Oh really."

"I just woke up!" he protested, pulling the bedroll over his lap. That wasn't the entire reason he was hard as a rock, but that was none of her business. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen it, or had it, plenty of times before, but Edric was staring out onto the plains with a tense frown, his cheeks pink. "How did you find me out here?" Her silver eyes shifted to Edric, and Farkas sighed. "He saved my life, sister. The Silver Hand got me."

"Yes, we found the remains, what was left of them after the wolves and sabre cats got their share. We also found your blood all over the place."

Her eyes still stared at Edric in a predatory fashion that the young man pointedly ignored. As if he knew that meeting her stare would rile her. "He knows what we are Aela, but he can be trusted, I swear. He saved me when they had me nearly dead, in beast form. I was almost dead. He healed me and brought me here and took care of me. He killed half of them without breaking a sweat. I told him he should be a Companion." She grunted at that, giving him nothing, still studying Edric intently. Then her eyes lit on the ring.

Aela leaned towards Edric, who finally glanced at her, seeming unconcerned about the sudden increase in the intensity of her gaze. "Where did you get that, pup?" she asked in a growl. "That ring. You wear our master's ring, but you aren't one of us."

Edric calmly stated, "I got it in Falkreath. A wolf named Sinding—" Aela bared her teeth and hissed Sinding's name, and he went on, "Yes, he murdered a little girl, but he did it under the influence of this very ring. Hircine cursed it. I took the ring from him and found the great white stag and killed it. Long story short, I spared Sinding. Hircine wanted me to kill and skin him and I said hell no. The Daedra cleansed the ring and didn't seem to hold a grudge. He was actually pretty fair about it." He took it off and held it out to Aela. "Want it?"

"I have no need," she said in clipped tones. "I am no wild wolf." She sneered at him and added, "I belong to the Lord of the Hunt. That you so casually throw away his gift offends me."

"So offering you something I thought you might like offends you? You must be a fun girlfriend."

Aela sat back on her heels, her tongue in her cheek. She then turned her gaze to Farkas, who was looking between her and Edric with a worried expression. "Are you well enough to move, brother? Skjor has your clothing." Farkas nodded. Aela turned and whistled, and Skjor came trotting over. The one-eyed old warrior came to stand next to Aela, and after he tossed Farkas' clothes to him he stood staring at the scene with his hands on his hips, scowling. She motioned with her chin towards Edric. "This one knows what we are."

"Is that so," Skjor stated in a low, dangerous voice.

Farkas said in warning, "He saved my life, Skjor. He found out what we are by cleaning out Silver Hand lairs and reading their letters and journals. He's going to join the Companions."

"Is that so," Skjor repeated. He looked the young man over then asked, "What's your name, boy?" The young man stared at him for a long moment, and when Skjor looked nearly ready to bark at him he finally spoke.

Edric said in aggravation, "I said I _might_ join the Companions. If this is the kind of thanks I get for saving your packbrother's life, I'd hate to see what kind of treatment the average whelp gets." He picked up his great-sword off the ground and slung the leather baldric over his head and across his chest. Farkas bit his lip as Edric began packing up his gear. The young man dumped the remains of the stew into the single bowl and shoved it at Farkas. "Finish that."

"Okay," Farkas mumbled. He could tell Edric was angry. Maybe even hurt. Farkas wasn't very happy either. As he ate he glared at Aela and Skjor, who were both watching Edric's every move, which Edric was pointedly ignoring. When Farkas was done he handed the bowl and spoon to Edric, who scraped it out into the fire then shoved it into his pack. He took out a bottle of mead then stood and walked away from the camp, stopping about thirty feet away to stand with his back to the three of them as he drank.

Skjor frowned at the young man's back as he muttered, "What's his problem?"

"I think you two hurt his feelings. Especially Aela."

The older man sputtered. "What does he want, a hug?"

Aela smirked and said, "No, I think ice brains here took care of that." Skjor raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on that while Farkas began dressing, his cheeks red. Aela glanced behind her at Edric. "I don't like that he knows what we are," she said in a tone of disquiet.

"I don't like that he didn't bother telling us his name."

Farkas pulled on his tunic as he said, "His name is Edric. He said he's an adventurer." Skjor went still and Aela grunted, watching the young man. "He fought off six or seven hunters on his own, in the dark, and they couldn't touch him. They didn't even know he was there until he was right on top of them. He healed all my wounds like it was nothing. Even with the silver I've hardly got a mark. We could use our own healer in Jorrvaskr." Skjor slowly nodded as he turned to watch Edric as well. "I know he's not a big guy, but he's strong. He came up to me when I was still in beast form. He pulled the silver arrows out and wasn't afraid of me. He sat up all night watching over me. He told me he wore the ring because he wanted to prove to us that he has good intentions." He narrowed his eyes at his shield-sister. "Then he tried to give it to Aela and she just about spit in his face for it."

She said in a defensive tone, "He did it in much too casual a manner."

"Yeah, because he isn't a werewolf. Of course it doesn't mean to him what it does to us." He made a sound of frustration. "Edric's a good person. He's strong and skilled and honorable. What more do you want?"

"All right, brother," Skjor said, relenting. "You know people. If you say we can use him, then we can."

"Good," Farkas sighed in relief.

"Kodlak will have to take a look at him first."

Farkas made a sound of assent; of course he knew that. He sat down on the bedroll to put on his boots and saw Edric drain the last of the mead out of the bottle then pull an amulet out of his armor; the young man brought it to his lips and kissed it then held it there, talking to himself. Praying maybe. Farkas quietly said, "The only thing that worries me is I think he might have a drinking problem. He seems…it's like…he's troubled. Sad. He told me that, that he's always sad." Farkas hadn't gotten the chance to ask him why, either.

"No one cares about his drinking as long as he isn't another Torvar." Skjor folded his arms and quietly added, "And he wouldn't be the first person to join the Companions to get away from his past." He glanced back at Farkas. "I'll go have a word with the lad. If he can do all you say he can and Kodlak likes the look of him, then he's in."

"Okay." Skjor walked away and Farkas began packing up the bedroll, shaking the dust off it, then he smelled that smell again, permeating the whole inside of it. He stuck his nose into the fur and took a deep breath, suddenly feeling happy. He was sure Kodlak would let Edric join. Everyone would like Edric as much as Farkas did, he was sure of it. He closed his eyes and rubbed his cheeks on the fur and growled in contentment.

Aela frowned at Farkas and muttered in disquiet, "What on Nirn are you doing?"

"Uh…nothing." He folded and rolled up the bedroll then set it aside, seeing Skjor leading Edric farther away, his hand on the young man's shoulder. He watched as the older man asked Edric something, then Edric glanced back at Farkas and Aela. Skjor gripped his shoulder more firmly and leaned close to him, asking something more intently, then Edric nodded once, curtly. Skjor let his hand fall away then put his hands on his hips and looked out over the plains. Edric said something, slowly shaking his head and making a cutting motion with his free hand, and Skjor folded his arms and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. Edric kept talking in an animated fashion, waving the empty bottle about, then Skjor held his hands up in surrender. Skjor motioned to Edric's face and the young man seemed embarrassed, putting his hand over his right cheek, and it made Farkas feel a surge of protective anger. It wasn't nice to point out people's scars. Every warrior had them. Skjor was missing an eye, for gods' sake.

Aela said in annoyance, "Why is he going to the trouble? Either the pup wants to join or he doesn't."

"Edric is a strong warrior. He'd make a good Companion."

"Maybe so, but he doesn't seem particularly eager for the honor."

"He told me he promised someone that someday he would join." He added with excitement, "He has a lightning sword. It lit up those Silver Hands like…well, like lightning."

"You said he was an adventurer. He could have found the sword anywhere. Doesn't look any fancier than a plain steel great-sword to me." Skjor gripped Edric's shoulder then patted it and started walking back, leaving the young man behind, where he grasped his amulet and began to pray again. When the old warrior returned Aela said in offense, _"What_ is his problem? Does he need to pray on the matter to make a decision?"

Skjor replied, "Let the lad be. He'll come by in a day or so." He motioned to Farkas. "Let's go, brother. I need to tell Kodlak about Edric, give him a little warning. Then we need to call the Circle together when your twin gets back and talk about the Silver Hand. They were right on our doorstep. They stalked you." Farkas nodded solemnly. "Did they say anything to you?"

"Not _to_ me," Farkas quietly said. "I uh…they nearly finished me off. I was down on the ground bleeding to death. One of them said he wished he could figure out how we're getting in and out of the city, then they said they'd have to watch you two more carefully and wait for you to slip up."

"Fuck," Aela spat. "Maybe the old man will listen now!"

"Well I'm not going out hunting alone anymore." He hesitated then added, "Maybe not at all."

Skjor said in distaste, "Not you too."

"Well shit Skjor, I don't want to spend the rest of my life being hunted. Last night was bad. Really bad. I'd be dead now if it wasn't for Edric."

Aela said, "Yes, and I find it too much of a coincidence that he just happened to be there at just the right time."

"He was out here deciding whether to join," Skjor stated. "He was out here watching the city and mulling it over, so no, it wasn't entirely coincidence. Much as it offends you sister, it isn't an easy decision. He'd be giving up a large measure of his freedom, just as I did. You and the twins were raised to become Companions. The rest of us were not."

"Fine," she sighed.

"Give the lad a chance, and don't drive him off with your attitude."

"It won't be me who does. It will be Vilkas."

"Vilkas," Skjor spat, rolling his only eye. "He made his own bed and now he's lying in it." He turned to Farkas and said in warning, "You'll end up a mad dog like your brother if you give up the hunt."

Farkas protested angrily, "No I won't. And he's not a mad dog. He's just…he's tense, that's all."

"That tension of his is bleeding out onto everyone else. The whelps are all scared of him at this point. So are half the women of this hold. Mark my words, if he doesn't come to his senses and return to the hunt he's going to go feral one of these days, and then we're going to be forced to put him down. That's the last thing any of us want. He and Kodlak might be acting like fools, but they're still beloved brothers of blood and shield. This Sovngarde obsession of Kodlak's has torn the pack apart."

"We should be able to choose where we want to go when we die!"

"Yes, and you chose when you took the blood," Aela stated firmly. "The origins of the beastblood are neither here nor there. You and Vilkas knew what you were getting into when you joined the Circle." Farkas said nothing more, fuming, and she turned on her heel and started back to Whiterun, Skjor following. She waved her hand and barked, "Come on, ice brain. We're taking you home."

"I'll catch up. I want to say goodbye to Edric."

"Don't fall behind," Skjor warned. "None of us are safe anymore."

"Sure thing."

Farkas went over to Edric, who didn't turn. Farkas came around to look at him and Edric sighed heavily and looked up at him. Those big, sweet eyes and the sadness in them made Farkas have to fight not to sweep him into a hug, then he said to hell with it and did it anyway. Edric squawked and stood stiffly, his arms at his sides, and Farkas kept it brief, patting him on the back then letting him go. "Thank you," he said warmly. "I'll never forget what you've done for me."

Edric looked away, murmuring, "No problem. Feel better?"

"Yeah, much." His eyes lit on the amulet lying on Edric's chest. "You worship Kynareth?" The other man made a sound of assent, nodding. "Then Whiterun is where you need to be. The temple is there. And the Gildergreen, though it's kind of…dead."

"I've heard." He reached up and wrapped his hand around the amulet.

"Skjor wasn't talking about your, um, scars was he?"

Edric shook his head, the braid swaying. "Nothing bad. He wasn't unkind, don't worry." He sighed heavily. "Maybe I'll see you in a day or two."

"No maybes about it. You'd better show up." Edric nodded. "Promise?"

He took a deep breath and looked up at Farkas. He searched Farkas' eyes again, for so long that he felt his face grow warm, then Edric seemed to find what he was looking for and nodded, making Farkas let out a breath of relief. "I promise, Farkas. I will come to Jorrvaskr. Tomorrow."

Farkas grinned in relief and patted Edric's shoulder then took off at a jog to catch up with his packmates. The sound of shattering glass startled him, and he glanced back to see that Edric had finally thrown the empty mead bottle against a nearby rock and was praying again, his shoulders hunched over. He stopped where he was, nearly going back, his heart aching at the obvious pain radiating from the other man. He sighed at Aela's call and continued home. He would get it out of Edric eventually. Skjor had been an angry, closed-off mess when he came to Jorrvaskr, when the twins were twelve, and it had taken almost a year before he finally started warming up a little, first to Kodlak, then Askar and Gislun and the others. Skjor had been a soldier in the Great War, and a mercenary for years after that, a true sell-sword, and a damn good one too. As young as he was, surely Edric hadn't done anything like that, though Farkas supposed he might have fought in the civil war. A lot of people had. Either way, Farkas would get it out of him. He hoped Edric stuck it out long enough to let Farkas do it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Vilkas – 12th of Heartfire, 4E205**

Vilkas rotated his shoulders, trying not to growl irritably at the sound of his brother murdering the lute in his room. His twin couldn't play to save his life, but every so often Farkas would get some pathetic musical urge and start twanging on the thing. Vilkas had no musical talent either but he could tell the lute was badly out of tune. He had often considered over the years taking it to Mikael for tuning but he'd be damned if he asked the vain blonde for help with anything, and tuning it wouldn't change the fact that Farkas had no musical ability whatsoever.

He threw his pack down on the floor of his room then went to check on Kodlak. It worried him that his foster father wasn't attended more often, but Tilma was even older than the Harbinger and had her own duties. Vilkas had considered asking Ahlam, Nazeem's widow, if he could hire her as a nurse to check on Kodlak several times a day, but the old man would have his head for it, refusing to be treated like an invalid. The thing was, he nearly was an invalid, spending most of the day in bed, his lungs so destroyed by the rot that he could hardly breathe. Some nights when he couldn't sleep, Vilkas would lie there staring at the ceiling and swear that he could hear the old man's wheezing down the hall, and the helplessness he felt would nearly drive him mad with frustration, forcing him to get up and pound on the training dummy in his room until he was exhausted. Who was he kidding; he was always exhausted.

He gritted his teeth as he entered the Harbinger's quarters, hearing the raspy sound of Kodlak struggling to breathe as he shuffled about his room. Well, at least he was up and on his feet. Vilkas knocked on the door jamb before sticking his head in, and to his relief he saw the old man was up and dressed and had some color in his cheeks. Kodlak smiled at him and Vilkas let out a shaky breath and returned it. He didn't ask how the Harbinger was feeling. He knew better. Still, the old man seemed in good spirits today.

"Ah Vilkas, you're back," Kodlak said in satisfaction.

"Yes, the job went well. The girl was unharmed and is back safe with her family."

"How did the whelps do?"

"Ria carried herself well. She no longer panics in battle and is doing better at keeping her surroundings in mind. Torvar…" He shook his head then pushed his filthy hair out of his eyes. "I am at a loss as to what to do with the sloppy bastard. I would toss him out on his ass right now if not for his family connections." He was the spare youngest son of Skald the Elder, Jarl of the Pale, and while he was good about not playing on his status and was decent in a fight, it was a constant struggle to keep him sober on the job, and he seemed to prefer fistfights to actual battle. He wasn't quite a coward but he wasn't particularly brave either. Kodlak nodded, his lips pursed, then he began coughing, and Vilkas had to pretend that he didn't see the flecks of blood that the Harbinger quickly licked away.

"Come, let's go sit. I smell Tilma's apple pie."

Vilkas stood aside to let the older man shuffle by, ready to catch him if needed, and was pained by how frail he was. The rot was eating him alive, literally consuming him from the inside out. Vilkas had no idea how he could continue watching this happen. And yet he had no choice. None at all.

Kodlak sank into the chair and saw that indeed Tilma had left a freshly baked pie on his table. He drew in a deep breath of it then sat back in the chair. "So. Now that you're back, the Circle will be meeting in the Underforge tonight."

"Why?"

"Silver Hand." He took a deep breath and went into another coughing fit, and once it was over he rasped, "Your twin nearly died two nights ago." Vilkas went pale under the dirt and war paint, his gloved hands tightening in his lap. "He has agreed to consider giving up the hunt, as we have. The encounter scared him straight, it seems."

Vilkas slowly nodded, relieved. How he wished it hadn't taken something like this though. "I can only hope that he deals with it better than I have. I still feel the call of the blood, constantly."

"As do I," Kodlak said with sympathy, "however this is our burden to bear until a cure is found. We _will_ overcome this, son. I promise you that."

"You have my brother and me, obviously. But Skjor and Aela—" Vilkas cut off, hearing the door at the end of the hall open then the scuff of leather boots on the stone floor.

"A stranger approaches," Kodlak murmured. "I don't recognize the footsteps."

"Aye." A young man was walking down the hall, dressed in sleeveless steel armor without the pauldrons, armed with a steel great-sword that seemed too large for his slender frame. Vilkas at first took him for a Breton, however the other races dressed warmly in Skyrim even in summer, and today was the 12th of Heartfire, and while the man had somewhat…delicate features, they were still Nordic. Vilkas heard a shuddering intake of breath from Kodlak as the young man entered the Harbinger's quarters, then the old man began to cough again. Vilkas stared coldly at the stranger and folded his arms, asking, "What do you want?" The young man was looking at Kodlak with an expression of almost horror. "Hey, I am talking to you!" Vilkas barked. "What is your name and what do you want?"

The young man narrowed his eyes as they slid over to Vilkas, and he stated in a terse voice, "My name is Edric. I'm here to join the Companions."

"Are you now," Vilkas sneered. He was distinctly unimpressed. That hair was ridiculous. No true warrior let his hair grow that long. "We already have enough girls here." Instead of getting offended Edric smiled and fluttered his eyelashes at him.

"So you think I'm pretty then?" Kodlak let out a wheezing laugh that made Edric look back to him in concern while Vilkas seethed. He looked Vilkas over and added, "At least I know what a bar of soap is for."

"I just returned from a job," Vilkas hissed, his blood suddenly boiling. "And no, you are _not_ pretty, not with those hideous scars on your—"

"Vilkas," Kodlak said sharply, and Vilkas fell silent, practically trembling with rage. Kodlak gave him a long warning stare then turned his attention to Edric. "Come lad, let's have a look at you." Edric hesitated then knelt in front of the Harbinger. He put his hands on the young man's shoulders and looked into his eyes for a long moment, then he nodded slowly and whispered, "Yes. You have strength of spirit, boy. There is no denying that."

Vilkas said in offense, "Master, surely you aren't considering it!" He did not at all like the way Kodlak was looking at the man. The depth of emotion there was unsettling, and confusing, and Edric was meeting his gaze with a clenched jaw and shining eyes, a shiver going through him as Kodlak weakly patted the young man's shoulders then took his hands away and sat back.

"I am not your master Vilkas, or anyone else's. We have empty beds last I checked, and Jorrvaskr always has room for those with a fire burning in their hearts."

Still kneeling, Edric muttered, "That's something I no longer have."

"Then perhaps this is where you will find it again." Edric seemed unconvinced of that.

Seeing there was no dissuading the old man, Vilkas stated, "It is not only his heart that matters, but his arm." He snapped at Edric, "How are you in a battle, if you have ever actually seen one?"

"I've seen plenty," Edric stated, "and I can more than hold my own."

"I will be the judge of that." He stood. "We will go out into the yard and test your arm."

Kodlak said to Edric, "Return to me when you are done lad, and…we will talk."

"Yes sir," Edric agreed quietly.

Vilkas didn't wait to see if the young man followed, though he heard him do so after a few seconds. Once upstairs he saw the rest of the Companions watching Njada and Athis going at it again, the dark elf determined to best her in a fistfight no matter how many tries it took. It was sad that an elf made a better Companion than Torvar. And there he sat watching the fight with a mug in his hand. Pathetic.

No one seemed to notice them heading out to the yard, and once they were out there Vilkas muttered, "All right, let's have a look at you." Edric stood there and after a few seconds held his hands out to his sides in question. The young man's arms were more muscular than Vilkas had originally thought, but still slender. "You're a Nord?" he asked skeptically. The man looked and sounded like one, but he was much more lightly built than Nords usually were, and shorter. It was possible the man was a mutt, but he was standing out here in the cool air without any discomfort, and except for his height and build Vilkas couldn't see those tiny signs of another race that halfbreeds usually had.

"Born and raised. Want me to take my armor off to see if my nipples get hard?"

"You are going to stop that right now or you're out of here," Vilkas growled. "I don't tolerate that from the women here and I sure as hell won't tolerate it from you." Edric's eyebrows rose then he shrugged without concern. Vilkas gave him a long warning glare then turned to the weapons rack under the shelter of the stone overhang of the Skyforge. He picked up a steel training shield and slid his arm into it, then he asked, "Do you always fight two-handed?"

"Usually, but I'm also proficient with a short sword and shield. Or a bow."

"Where did you get your training?"

"Here and there."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"The Legion. Orc strongholds. Ulfric's army."

He narrowed his eyes and sneered, "You're a Stormcloak?"

"Was. I quit when the war ended."

"That was nearly a year ago. What have you been doing since then?" There were plenty of former Stormcloaks wandering Skyrim these days, looking for trouble more than anything else. Vilkas could only hope that this one was halfway honorable. In fact it was surprising that this was the first one that had come through their doors.

"Traveling."

"How did you get into an orc stronghold? They don't let in outsiders."

"They do if you try hard enough and agree to live by the Code of Malacath while you're there." Edric went to the weapons rack and reached for a blunted steel great-sword meant for training.

"No. That is mine. No one else uses that but me." Edric's lips pressed together into a flat line, as if it took all his willpower not to give a smart-assed retort. Vilkas picked up a different one and handed it to him. "Here, use this one."

Edric frowned as he gave the sword a few swings. "You let people train with this? This is terrible." Vilkas didn't answer, walking away to an open space. He stopped and turned around, holding up the shield. "Is this the kind of welcome everyone gets?" Edric asked tartly.

"Only the people with bad timing. And smart mouths."

"I can't help it if I'm a free spirit."

Vilkas quickly brought up the shield as Edric swung at him without warning, without even the slightest of tells. The young man's green eyes were suddenly hard and Vilkas quickly found himself getting backed into a corner with a series of blows that he was hard pressed to deflect. He rolled out of it and barely had time to bring up the shield as the great-sword swung down so hard it left his arm numb. Edric's expression never changed during the entire thing.

Edric backed away, putting the sword on his shoulder. "Should I keep going?" He motioned towards the shield. "I think that's done for."

Vilkas shook off the shield, cursing under his breath at the pain in his arm where the metal had dented in so far that for a moment he feared his arm was broken. It very well might have been if he wasn't still wearing his armor. Which was also slightly dented. He was suddenly enveloped in a yellow glow that erased the pain, and his mouth fell open as Edric lowered his hand. "You're a healer?" he gasped. Edric shrugged and went to put the training sword back.

"Seriously, this training sword is a piece of crap. Point of balance is all wrong for the length. And the leather on the grip is sloppy."

"That is intentional. That sword is meant to train the whelps to use whatever is at hand and adapt to it." Vilkas stared at Edric's back as he walked to the rack. This whole thing had him knocked for a loop. The young man's walk was easy and confident, and there was no doubt he was skilled. He could heal. Even Vilkas saw the benefit in having someone here who could do that. That hair though was annoying the hell out of him. It made him want to sneak up on the guy and cut it off and burn it. When Edric ignored his earlier warning and picked up Vilkas' training sword he nearly snapped at him, but instead he kept silent and watched as Edric began gracefully swinging the sword about. The sword was heavy, a blunt version of Vilkas' own Skyforge steel great-sword, and the muscles rolled under Edric's skin as he swung it as easily as the much larger Vilkas would have. The sword on the man's back didn't look any lighter. He began moving through some basic sword forms then abruptly stopped and set the training sword back on the rack. Vilkas noticed that the young man fought left hand dominant, which was unusual, but other than that he didn't know what to think. Most of the candidates they got here were raw; some had potential, and those they kept, but most were inexperienced. This one seemed very experienced, and Vilkas still wasn't satisfied with the explanation for it.

Vilkas walked over to him, stopping about ten feet away, and Edric asked, "So am I in?"

The tone of the man's voice was no longer flippant, but the almost bored way he asked set Vilkas off all over again. As if this test had only been a formality, Edric's place here already assured. He countered in aggravation, "Why do you even want in?"

"Farkas told me I would like it here. That this is a family. I could use one, I guess."

Wonderful, Vilkas thought sourly. "When did you meet my idiot brother?" Edric's eyes narrowed in sudden anger.

"When I saved his life two nights ago, and I hope to hell you don't talk like that to his face." Vilkas looked shocked, and Edric said with less heat, "So you didn't know."

"No. As I told you, I just got back from a job. Right before you showed up." So this…this _person_ had saved Farkas' life. Vilkas hadn't had the chance to ask Kodlak what had happened, but he had never imagined that this kid had been involved. Which meant that he owed him. It wasn't a comfortable feeling at all.

"Farkas is a good man."

"Yes, I am very aware of that."

"And he is _not_ an idiot."

"If you say so." The corner of Edric's lip lifted as he stared coolly at Vilkas. "What happened?"

"He was out hunting alone—"

Vilkas felt the hairs on his neck stand on end and he moved to grab the front of Edric's armor, but the young man smoothly danced out of his reach before he could connect. He growled through gritted teeth, "What did you see?"

Edric replied with quiet calm, "A big ass werewolf with two silver arrows in him, lying in a pool of his own blood." Vilkas stared at him with dilated silver eyes, breathing heavily, his hands flexing, and Edric warned, "You are much more likely to expose the Circle than I am, wolf. I'm no danger to you. Unless you come after me again." Vilkas struggled to control himself, and Edric went on, "I was out on the plains dressing out a deer I'd gotten earlier that evening and heard the attack. I already knew what you were, from Silver Hand lairs I cleaned out, thinking they were bandits. If I hadn't come along just then he would be _dead,_ do you understand? He took out six of them on his own, but there were another seven. They were two seconds away from chopping his head off when I got there. I pulled the arrows and healed him and took him back to my camp and watched him overnight. There might've been more hunters about, and he might have gone into shock. Sometimes even after you heal someone that can finish them off if they're weak enough. I fed him some stew in the morning and he slept some more, then Aela and Skjor showed up. Skjor also told me to come to Jorrvaskr, if that makes any difference to you."

"All right," Vilkas said in a near whisper, the anger draining out of him, replaced with cold fear. "What did they say? The Silver Hand."

"They know you have a secret way in and out of the city. The Underforge, I'm guessing, but they don't know that. They mentioned waiting for Aela and Skjor to mess up so they can catch one of them. They didn't even try to interrogate Farkas." His lips pursed then he looked at Jorrvaskr's back doors as he murmured, "Maybe I should go check on him. He seemed okay, but he lost a lot of blood."

The last of Vilkas' resentment left him as he murmured, "I am sure he's fine. I…owe you."

"Well, Farkas does, but I'm sure everyone here owes someone something." He turned away. "I'm going to talk to the old man."

"Fine." He followed after Edric, eyeing the sword on this back. He could see the faintest sheen on it. "Is your weapon enchanted?" he asked in distaste.

"Sure is."

"May I see it?" Edric stopped on the porch and pulled out the sword, handing it to him. The two-handed sword looked fairly ordinary, but it was perfectly balanced, sweeping through the air like a razor through silk. Looking at it you would never know how flawless the weapon was. "Where did you find it?"

"Solstheim." Vilkas looked shocked again. Edric took the sword from him and slid it back into its sheath. "It's called Stormfang. Took it off some bandit leader. Reavers, they call them there."

"You…have been to Solstheim?" It was impossible to keep a touch of yearning out of his voice. Edric had been to Solstheim. Edric shrugged and Vilkas moved closer to him, getting a warning glare. He knew he was invading the other man's personal space and didn't care. "Why were you in Solstheim?"

"I was doing odd jobs for the guy who runs Raven Rock. There was nothing interesting left to do here."

"I heard the Dragonborn was on Solstheim. Did you see him?" Supposedly there had been another Dragonborn or some such nonsense. As if anyone was going to believe that.

"No. No I did not."

"Huh." While he mulled on that Edric took a slow step away, his eyes cold, and the movement left a draft of scent in his wake. Knowing that the man already knew what he was, Vilkas sniffed after him then leaned close and drew in a deep breath, making Edric huff in offense and shove him away. "You reek of alcohol," Vilkas said in disapproval. "We already have one drunk here and do not need another."

"I'm not a drunk; I'm an alcoholic. There's a difference." Vilkas made a sound of disbelief at the admission. "I have _never_ been drunk on the job. Not once."

"Is that because of your work ethic, or because you have built up such a tolerance for it?"

"Either. Both. Does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

"Why?"

"Where did you get the scars?"

"Damn, you're nosy. Did I pass your test or not?"

"Yes, but—" Edric turned on his heel and walked away, throwing Jorrvaskr's door open and stalking inside. Vilkas stood there for several moments, wrestling with the uneasiness he felt. There was something about the new whelp that just didn't sit right. Many things about him that didn't sit right. Taken separately, no single thing would have bothered Vilkas, but put together they were troubling.

Edric had been a Stormcloak. He was much more skilled than the average recruit. He knew healing magic. He had been to Solstheim. He had trained in orc strongholds. He had scars on the right side of his face and another across his nose. He was a smart ass. And he had a drinking problem.

Many of those things lined up with the Dragonborn. But then the Dragonborn was missing an eye; Edric had both. The Dragonborn's face was destroyed; Edric had scars on his right cheek and nose only. The Dragonborn was partially crippled, walking with a heavy limp; Edric moved smoothly, gracefully. The Dragonborn was burnt to the point of having no hair on his head, down to no eyebrows or lashes; Edric had a head of hair that would have taken years to grow to that length, and very full eyelashes. The Dragonborn spoke with a constant thu'um, his voice rough and raspy from screaming; Edric's voice was light, melodic even, with not even a hint of the thu'um. The Dragonborn had reportedly visited Solstheim for several months earlier in the year, but had also reportedly returned to High Hrothgar after that and hadn't been seen since mid-Second Seed.

Well, Edric was no Dragonborn, obviously, but the man was hiding something. There was something so damn…_weird_ about the guy. It was no single thing Vilkas could put his finger on either, and it drove him to distraction. He was so distracted that it took him a few minutes to realize that he'd completely forgotten to make the whelp take his sword up to Eorlund for sharpening, his usual first task for a newblood. Maybe that was for the best; Edric might have simply refused to do it and Vilkas would have been left standing there with it, looking like a fool, with no recourse.

Preoccupied, Vilkas went back into the mead hall, vaguely registering most of his shield-siblings sitting down to eat, Njada and Athis sitting companionably near each other as if nothing had happened. The girl at least had toned down her bitchiness since the dragon encounter near Rorikstead. Vilkas was hungry himself, but he knew his odor right now wouldn't exactly be appetizing to anyone, including himself.

When he went downstairs he saw Kodlak's outer doors were closed, and he huffed in annoyance and went to his room to strip off his armor. There was no longer any horrid dissonance coming from his twin's room, by the grace of Dibella. He neatly set his armor on its stand then gathered clean clothes and headed for the single bathing room they all shared, and once he was feeling clean and presentable he went and knocked on his brother's door.

Farkas called him in, and when Vilkas entered he saw his brother sitting at the bar, whittling, something he usually only did when he was bored, though unlike playing the lute it was something Farkas was good at. He closed the door and his twin smiled at him, and Vilkas sighed and let the sight soothe him, though it was hard, thinking how close Farkas had come to dying. He'd lose his mind if he lost his twin, the one person in his life who had always been there for him no matter what. He went to Farkas and impulsively grabbed him into a hug, letting out a shuddering breath. "You idiot," he whispered. "Fucking idiot."

"I know," Farkas muttered sheepishly, holding his twin in return. "It was stupid and it won't happen again."

"It had better not." He nearly let go of him but decided to stay there, letting his brother's scent wrap around him comfortingly. Farkas didn't mind. "So the new whelp saved you."

Farkas lifted his head and let go of Vilkas, saying in an excited tone, "Edric is here?"

Vilkas sighed at the loss of contact and warmth, and when Farkas moved to get up from his seat Vilkas pushed him back down. "He's talking to Kodlak in private. The old man won't want to be interrupted." Vilkas sat down next to him. "Your luck ran out that night, brother," he warned.

"I know. I was just about dead when he came along." Vilkas closed his eyes for a moment, and Farkas leaned against him. Vilkas growled quietly and rubbed his head against Farkas', and he patted his twin's leg and said, "It's okay. He killed the rest of them and healed me up. He watched over me all night and took care of me." He paused then added in a cautious tone, "He knows what we are, but he can be trusted, I swear. Did you see his ring? He wears the Ring of Hircine. He saved that feral werewolf in Falkreath we heard about. He has the Lord's blessing."

"He is better off without it. Kodlak has said that no one else will take the blood as long as he is Harbinger." So Edric had done that too. It seemed there wasn't anything he hadn't dabbled in.

"He tried to give the ring to Aela as a gift and she got mad. Said she didn't need it, but…maybe, maybe he would give it to you."

"I don't want it," Vilkas said curtly, pulling away from his brother and standing.

"Yeah, but you need it."

"I'm fine."

"No you're not."

_You are much more likely to expose the Circle than I am, wolf._ Edric's words came back to him, taunting. And dangerously true. This last job hadn't been a particularly messy one, but he had made it that way, the smell of blood sending a wave of bloodlust through him that was extremely difficult to ignore. It was getting to the point where he was afraid to take any of the whelps with him, on the off chance that he was pushed into changing. If he changed in front of any of them he would have to kill them to keep the Circle's secret. No way in hell he wanted to be responsible for that. It was bad enough they were starting to grow wary of him. He had seen how frightened Ria was this last time out.

Farkas changed the subject, asking, "Were you the one who tested him?"

"Yes. He is very skilled." He added sourly, "He also has a drinking problem. He stank of liquor. It was practically oozing out of him. He admitted to being an alcoholic." And amongst Nords that was saying something.

Farkas frowned. "I know, but he said he never lets it get in the way. Maybe once he gets comfortable here he can sort out whatever's bothering him. It's like he's grieving."

"He said he is a former Stormcloak and was in the Legion. He no doubt lost friends or kin in the war."

"Yeah. Hey, look what I'm making him." He picked up the chunk of linden wood, already roughed out into a bird-like shape. "It's going to be a hawk. For Kyne. He worships Kynareth. Did you see his amulet?" Vilkas shook his head. "I'm giving this to him as a gift for helping me. I can't really do much else right now. I feel okay but still get tired easy. Danica checked me out and said he did a perfect job healing me but it's going to take time to build back up my strength. A couple weeks maybe. I'm bored as hell, so…I'm making him a bird."

Touched, Vilkas said, "I'm sure he will like it." And if Edric said something snide about it or hurt Farkas' feelings Vilkas was going to strangle him. "Are you hungry? You should eat plenty of red meat and dark greens, you know."

"That's what Danica said. But no, I just ate. Thanks."

"All right. I'm going to go get something."

"Leave the door open on your way out. It's stuffy in here."

"Aye."

Vilkas went out into the hall and saw that Kodlak's doors were still closed. He moved closer on bare feet, hearing Edric's voice, soft and low, then the deep rumble of Kodlak's, broken by the occasional hacking cough. He then heard Kodlak laugh, something that had been rare during the last year.

Satisfied that Edric wasn't riling the old man Vilkas headed upstairs, starving. He supposed he could give the whelp a chance. Kodlak seemed pleased that Edric was here, and Farkas obviously was, and even Skjor had supposedly encouraged Edric to join. Vilkas headed for the old warrior, who was sitting by himself on a side bench, his arms crossed over his chest and his legs stretched out in front of him, his head tilted back against the wall, eye closed, and it stayed that way even when he felt Vilkas' weight on the bench.

"Vilkas," he said in greeting.

"We have a new member as of today."

"Uh huh."

"What do you think of him?"

Skjor shrugged one shoulder, opening his eye. "I think he'll be a good addition to our group. Someone who can fight off seven Silver Hand in the dark without taking a scratch? That's not an opportunity we can afford to pass up."

"Aye, but…" He folded his arms and leaned back as well. "Didn't you find him a bit…odd?"

"How so?"

"So you didn't."

"Not particularly, no. His hair is annoying, but if he's managed to fight with hair that long I'd say he can do whatever the hell he wants. He seems a bit troubled, but…well, you were old enough to remember when I came here. I didn't want to be here, but I had nowhere else to go. He likes his drink a bit too much, but he's no Torvar. Farkas says he's a skilled healer, which is something we've lacked here." He waved Vilkas off. "Give the lad a chance. Let him get comfortable here and he'll open up eventually."

"Fine." Vilkas lowered his voice as he asked, "Was my brother as bad off as he and Edric say he was?"

Skjor gravely stated, "Yes, absolutely. Aela and I came upon the scene of the fight the next morning. We were off hunting the night before in the hills up north, and when we returned no one knew where Farkas was. We went into the Underforge and found his clothing near the entrance. We followed his trail out onto the plains and found one hell of a mess. The predators had torn up the bodies and none of them were his, but his blood was everywhere. The ground was soaked with it. Farkas told us on the way back to the Underforge just how bad it was. He was nearly dead. He was lying on the ground bleeding to death with two silver arrows in him, all sliced to hell. There's no doubt in Aela's, Farkas' or my mind that your twin would be dead if Edric hadn't come along."

"All right," Vilkas whispered. Well that certainly drove it home. The thought of it sent fresh pangs of anxiety through him, mixed with wild relief. For that alone he would give Edric a chance to prove himself.

"It was stupid of him to hunt alone, and I partially blame myself and Aela for that. But you and Kodlak have to bear partial blame as well. Ice brains has the notion now that he's going to give up the hunt. Don't think Aela and I can't see what it's done to you. You're driving yourself mad, and for what?"

Vilkas replied angrily, "For Sovngarde. For purity. I want to die a man, a warrior, not an animal." He made a sound of frustration and shook his head. "I am not going there again with you, or Aela. I've made up my mind." And his mind was sound, and he didn't care what any of them said.

"Fair enough. Let's hope your brother manages it better than you've been able to." Vilkas growled quietly, fuming. Skjor looked at him in concern, silent for a long moment, then he softly said, "The lad has the Ring of Hircine. If you insist on staying on this path…"

"I don't need the ring."

"Okay." Vilkas stayed where he was, still struggling with his temper, and Skjor left him to it for a few minutes then said in a careful tone, "About your brother…"

"What about him," Vilkas snapped.

"He seems very fond of Edric."

"Yes, he seemed happy he was here."

"No, that isn't what I mean." Vilkas frowned and turned to look at him. "When Aela and I found them, Farkas was snuggling with him."

"Snuggling?" Vilkas said with a grimace. "Did I just hear that word come out of your mouth?" Skjor laughed, his single silver eye sparkling. "My brother does not _snuggle_ with other men."

"Really. Well I saw them snuggling. Spooning, how's that? They were cozied up like a pair of field mice in a winter burrow, and Aela said she saw Farkas smelling Edric's hair and growling. She also told me that when Farkas was rolling up Edric's bedroll he started sniffing it then growled and rubbed his cheeks on it." Vilkas stiffened, his lips pursed and eyes narrowed. Skjor asked in a thoughtful tone, "Just when was the last time you saw Farkas with a woman?"

"Not even a month ago. Narri, the serving girl at the Dead Man's Drink in Falkreath. The two of us were there on business. We…" Vilkas trailed off, his face growing warm, and Skjor quirked an eyebrow.

"Do tell."

"Regardless, I have seen him with women recently."

"You two are odd."

"Mind your own damn business."

Skjor held his hands up in surrender. "All right. I'm just saying that it's something to keep close watch on. A man's preferences are his own and I couldn't care less, but not the rest of it. That kind of behavior in one of us isn't trivial. "

"I'm well aware of that." It worried him that Skjor was right, that maybe Farkas only slept with women when Vilkas was around. He had gone plenty of places over the last ten or fifteen years where men had either approached him openly or made eyes at him, and they always seemed shocked when he declined, and he now feared that it was because his twin had bedded them and the men assumed Vilkas went the same way. But Farkas never had trouble bedding a woman, never seemed disinterested. But then he never seemed that eager either. Just…agreeable. And it was always Vilkas who had to make the first move; Farkas never did. Vilkas hadn't doubted over the years that Farkas still occasionally slept with other men, but Vilkas had always assumed Farkas was sleeping with women as well.

For Farkas to 'snuggle' with a near stranger and display mating behavior was worrisome. It made it absolutely vital that Edric never take the beastblood. If the young man smelled like one of their kind then Farkas would find him even more enticing, and it was obvious Edric was a lover of men from his flirty behavior and a certain lilt to his voice, though there were plenty of men who were extremely masculine and showed no signs at all. And that hair, like a girl's… No, there was no question there of what Edric was, and it made Vilkas apprehensive all over again about allowing the new whelp into the ranks. Farkas had been much too excited by the news that Edric had arrived. Maybe the big oaf had a crush on the young man because he had swept in and saved his life. And knew what Farkas was and didn't shy away from it. And was much too pretty for a man, except for those nasty scars on his face.

Vilkas grunted and stood and walked away from Skjor, hearing the old warrior chuckle behind him. No, he would have to make sure that Farkas didn't take it into his head to sleep with the new recruit, and vice versa, and he would be damned if the whelp was ever allowed to take the blood. Vilkas would absolutely not allow his brother to permanently mate to another Companion, let alone another man, and the only way Farkas could do that was if the other was a werewolf. Farkas had agreed nearly two decades ago to their plan for the future and by Mara they were sticking to it. They were going to get cured, and they would find wives, or a wife, and settle down and have a family together, like normal people. The Circle had always taken a firm stance on not forming mating bonds between members, as it had the potential to cause jealousy and strife within the Circle. Relationships between Companions were frowned upon in general, for the same reason, though there was no actual rule against it. Neither twin had ever slept with a shield-sibling, though it was sometimes difficult not to when he was on a job with Ria and she was making eyes at him, thinking she was being discreet about it, and his blood was howling inside him, the wolf pressing for release in any way it could find it. Well, after this last trip he doubted Ria would look him in the eyes ever again.

As he seated himself at the table and began filling his plate he cast a glance at Skjor and saw the one-eyed warrior smirking at him. "Bastard," he muttered to himself as he speared a slab of venison. Well then, once Farkas was recovered Vilkas was taking him back to Falkreath to visit Narri. She had seemed quite happy with attention from both twins and had always been a friendly, pleasant girl, and it went without saying that she was lovely. They weren't getting any younger, and Kodlak seemed convinced that a cure would be found before the end of the year. Narri was as fine a candidate as any for a wife. Maybe they wouldn't even have to quit the Companions. Tilma was getting ancient and there was no reason Narri wouldn't do as a replacement. Vilkas had quite a bit of coin saved up; the twins could buy Severio Pelagia's old house and repair it, since it had passed back into the Jarl's ownership. Breezehome stood empty but was much too small. That would allow them to continue doing what they enjoyed and still have a family. Vilkas wasn't cut out to be a farmer or shopkeeper. He absolutely did not have the temperament for that, beastblood or not.

Feeling satisfied, Vilkas dug into his lunch. It was the perfect solution. He would start steering his twin that direction once Farkas had recovered. People had told Vilkas since they were small to take care of his brother, and that was damn well what he was going to do, whether Farkas liked it or not.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Part 2 of the previous chapter...**_

* * *

**Farkas - 12th of Heartfire, 4E205**

The sound of Kodlak's outer doors opening made Farkas jump up from his seat, and after a brief dizzy spell he hurried out into the hall he shared with his brother then out into the main hall of the living area. He saw Edric coming out, some of the tension that had been there the other day eased, and when he looked up and saw Farkas he gave him a smile that made the big man grin at him. "You came!" he said happily, grabbing Edric into a hug. And there was that wonderful smell again, that warm spiciness that made Farkas want to…well, do something that would get him into a hell of a lot of trouble.

Edric laughed and patted Farkas on the back. "I promised I would, big guy," he replied.

Farkas held him out at arm's length and Edric smoothed his hair back, glancing behind him at Kodlak, who watched them with a smile of contentment on his weathered face that Farkas hadn't seen in a long time. "This is a great day, Harbinger."

Kodlak chuckled and said, "Aye son, that it is. Show Edric where he'll be sleeping."

"Sure." He put his arm around Edric's shoulders, and the young man let him with only a small sigh of forbearance. "There's extra beds in the whelps' quarters. I know it isn't much."

Edric shook his head, saying, "You should see some of the places I've slept over the years. This is not a problem, really. Dry and warm is all that matters."

"You can pick which side you want to sleep on. There's kind of a women's side and a men's side but you can pretty much sleep wherever you want."

"Well, I could go either way." Farkas frowned, confused by the statement, and Edric laughed and poked him in the ribs. "Just kidding. I only go one way. Though I've had people tell me I'm like a girl sometimes. Doesn't bother me. Sometimes I am. Anyone who doesn't like it can kiss my ass."

"Oh." Farkas laughed quietly and admitted, "I thought you were a girl at first. Why do you keep your hair so long?"

"Because I can."

"I guess that's as good a reason as any." He led him into the common quarters, which were empty with everyone upstairs eating lunch. He reluctantly let go of Edric's shoulders and pointed to the beds. "You can tell which ones are slept in. You're kind of between a rock and a hard place. Ria's a sweetheart but Njada's kind of a bitch at times. Athis is good people and pretty quiet, but Torvar is an ass and a drunk. Pick your poison." He then realized what he had said. "I mean, you're better than Torvar."

Edric quietly said, "I'll tell you what I told your brother: I have a drinking problem, I admit that, but I'm not a drunk. I've never gotten drunk on the job. I don't get drunk, period."

"Okay. Uh, I'm sorry."

The young man shook his head, his braid swaying. "No, don't worry about it. I know what I am. I won't let it cause problems. I don't want Kodlak to regret anything." He waved at the women's side of the room. "I'll take this side. By Ria, wherever that is." Farkas pointed, and Edric nodded and sat down on the crisply made bed. He lightly bounced his palms on his knees and asked, "So when do I get my first job?"

"Hm. I don't know. I usually give out first jobs, but I'm supposed to be resting. Skjor or Vilkas might have something for you. Aela too. We don't usually send anyone out on their own, but they'll probably make an exception for you. You're a lot more experienced than most of the recruits we get. Or…well, I'm assuming."

"Yes. I'm experienced." Farkas stared at him expectantly, and he took in a deep breath then said, "I joined the Legion when I was sixteen. Traveled all over doing that for a long time. Felt like a long time, anyway. I left the Legion four years ago to join Ulfric's rebellion. When the war was over I quit his army and struck out on my own. I got back from doing some work in Solstheim just a few weeks ago. I think I've done a little everything, fought a little everything."

"Have you ever fought a dragon?" Edric went still at that, frowning, and Farkas laughed and shook his head. "I'm joking. Vilkas fought a dragon once, did you know that? About six months ago."

"How'd he manage?"

"He said he might've been able to kill it on his own, but the Dragonborn came along so he'll never find out."

Edric laughed then drawled, "Really. Your brother thinks he can take down a dragon on his own?"

Farkas shrugged. "He said _might've._ He didn't sound all that sure, actually. It wasn't like he was ungrateful for the help." Edric seemed mollified by that. "Have you ever met the Dragonborn? You were a Stormcloak, you must've seen him."

"A time or two." He stood and stretched. "If there isn't any work for me right now I think I'm going to visit the temple."

Farkas nearly asked _Do you want me to come with you?_ but thought better of it at the last second. He didn't want to smother the guy. "I'll take you upstairs to meet everyone. The other whelps I mean. One of the others might have a job for you too, so we can check with them."

"Sure." Farkas left the room and heard Edric follow, and he saw Tilma had come downstairs with a mug of warm mead for Kodlak. He put his arm around Edric's shoulders again and led him over to her. "Tilma, this is Edric. He just joined today." He quickly let go of Edric when the younger man shifted uncomfortably, and cursed himself for smothering when he had just told himself not to do it. It was so hard not to though. Farkas was just so happy that he was here.

"Edric," she said in a thoughtful tone. "Isn't that nice." Edric took her hand, making her let out a surprised _oh my_ before he kissed the back of it. She tittered and said, "Well aren't you a sweet boy."

Edric patted her hand then let go, saying with a wink, "I recognize the most important person in Jorrvaskr when I see her."

She made a laughing, sputtering sound and waved him off. "Now you're just buttering me up, you scoundrel. Get."

Farkas laughed and headed upstairs, murmuring to Edric, "You just made her day."

"She seems a lovely lady."

"Oh, she is. She practically raised me and Vilkas. We'd all be lost without her." As they topped the stairs he saw his brother in a heated discussion with Aela by the doors to Vignar and Brill's former quarters, now partly Tilma's, partly storage. The whelps at the table were watching them with varying expressions of morbid interest, dismay, annoyance, or fear, and Farkas could only be glad that if he couldn't make out what his packmates were saying then neither could the whelps. Skjor was nowhere to be seen.

As they reached the fire Vilkas snarled at Aela then turned on his heel and stormed out of Jorrvaskr, not sparing a glance for his twin or anyone else. The Huntress came over to Farkas and grabbed his arm, and he went along with a grunt. She pulled him into Tilma's room and slammed the door shut then turned on him, hissing, "Your brother is out of his damn mind!"

"No he isn't," Farkas said with a shake of his head, while fearing that maybe it was getting to that point.

"I told him about the ring the newblood wears and he refuses to take it."

"That's his right."

"Not when he's putting us all in danger! You didn't see him just now. When I was talking to him his eyes started to turn. His teeth sharpened. The smallest thing angers him to the point that he can barely contain himself." She huffed and pushed her hair back from her face. She put her hands on her hips and said in a tired, worried tone, "Look, even if he hasn't changed but once in the last year, he's still my brother. It hurts to see him like this, beyond the danger to the Circle. And the _whelps,_ Farkas. He can't be allowed to take them out anymore. He scared Ria to death this time. She said he hacked the kidnappers apart, well past the point it was necessary. His bloodlust isn't being satisfied by the wolf, so it's trying to find other ways to sate itself, and it won't work. Until he comes to his senses and returns to the pack or Kodlak finds his damn cure, Vilkas needs to stay in Jorrvaskr. I'm going to bring it up tonight when the Circle meets."

"He won't agree to that," Farkas said with dread. Deep dread.

"We'll get the old man to force him into it. He does whatever the Harbinger tells him to." She then looked thoughtful for a moment. "Or…if he won't stay here, send the newblood out with him. Edric knows what we are, so any slips on Vilkas' part won't be the end of the world."

Farkas grimaced and asked, "You really think that's a good idea? Edric can be, uh…mouthy, and it might set Vilkas off."

"Edric can keep his mouth shut on a job. He hasn't managed as long as he has by being unprofessional. In fact I was thinking about sending him on a job that just came in. Redbelly Mine in Shor's Stone is infested with frostbite—"

"Gah!"

Aela rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, you won't have anything to do with it, you big baby. We all know better. From what Vilkas said the newblood is highly skilled. He tested him out in the yard and Edric gave him a run for his money."

Farkas' eyebrows rose. "Vilkas said that?" All Vilkas had said earlier was that Edric was very skilled, which was high praise, but it had been delivered in that dry way Vilkas had of saying things that left you wondering exactly what he meant.

"It was what he didn't say. I asked him how the test went and he started tensing up right away. The whelp wounded his pride. I kept pushing him to give me specifics and he said Edric is 'adequately skilled'. He never misses a chance to dissect others' fighting skills, very publicly, so I can only assume Edric either bested him or nearly did. He refused to talk any further about it and when I asked if he found out anything about the whelp's background he nearly lost it. And I was _not_ being a bitch about it either, before you ask."

"I wasn't going to ask!"

"Hm, I wish your brother had half your sense. We need to keep an eye on him. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I feel he's becoming dangerous. If he keeps it up we may need to provoke him into changing and hunting, just to let off some of the pressure. Obviously our spring romp wasn't enough." Farkas looked uncertain but didn't protest. "All right then, I'm going to talk to the newblood, see if the mine job is up his alley."

"Okay."

Farkas followed Aela out of the room, worried to death for his twin. Aela always told it like it was, so if she said Vilkas' eyes had started to turn wolfish and his teeth lengthen then they had, and that was bad. Really bad. He had done it in full view of the whelps, and if his back hadn't been turned it would have been a disaster.

"Edric," Aela called as she walked across the wood floor. The young man was leaning against the end of one of the tables, drinking an ale. He set the bottle down and stood up straight, and she looked him over then said, "Good to see you made it up here. So the old man thinks you've got some heart, I guess."

"I guess," Edric replied reluctantly.

She smirked. "You know, I heard you gave Vilkas quite a thrashing out in the yard. Is that true?"

Farkas made a sound of dread and pleaded, "Don't let my brother hear you saying that. Please."

"Oh, I won't, I won't. I just want to get the newblood's side of the story."

Edric shrugged and said, "He just got back from a job. Maybe he was tired."

She snorted at that, while the other whelps looked surprised or irritated by the comment. It had been delivered without any boasting, but the statement itself said a lot. She motioned to the others sitting at the table. "These are your future shield-siblings: Njada, Ria, Torvar, Athis." Edric nodded to them in greeting and they either responded in kind or stared silently. "Did Farkas show you where you'll be sleeping?"

"Yeah. I picked the bed by the lovely Ria." She brightened and he winked at her, making her cover her mouth to hide her giggle. Farkas was pretty sure Edric hadn't had any idea who Ria was before that, but then maybe it wasn't that hard to tell, considering Njada was glowering.

Njada made a sound of disgust and stated, "There's a men's side and a women's side, idiot."

"So what?" Edric retorted. "It's not like there's a curtain in between so what difference does it make?"

"It's the idea."

He rolled his eyes and looked away from her. "You don't have anything I'm interested in, sister." Njada made a sound of offense, and before she could respond he asked Aela, "Is there any work to be done? I'm eager to get started."

"I like your spirit," she said in approval. "You know where Shor's Stone is?"

"Sure do."

"The mine there is infested with frostbite spiders." Farkas tried to hide his shudder, not altogether successfully.

"Really," Edric said in surprise, a look of distaste on his face. "When did that happen?"

"Don't know. Week at least I would guess, why?"

Edric shrugged. "No reason." He saluted her. "I'll head right out. Sounds pretty simple."

"Where's your gear?" Farkas asked. He'd finally noticed Edric wasn't wearing the leather armor of the other night.

"Left it at the Bannered Mare. I travel light, so I'll just grab my bag and go."

"Okay." He followed Edric to the door, and surprisingly enough Aela also followed. The young man went to leave and Aela caught his arm, startling both men.

Aela softly asked, "Did the old man fill you in on what's going on around here?" Edric gave a curt nod. "You still willing to part with that ring?" Edric shrugged and nodded, handing it over without hesitation, and Aela clutched it tightly in her palm. "One last question: do you think you could handle Vilkas in a real fight?"

Edric's brow furrowed and he replied just as quietly, "Do you really think it's going to come to that?"

"It better not," Farkas said unhappily.

Aela pressed, "Well?"

Edric glanced up at Farkas, who bit his lip at the questioning look there. For a moment he was mesmerized by the sweep of long eyelashes and slightly parted pink lips, then Edric's expression went neutral as he looked back to Aela. Farkas tried not to feel hurt by it; after all, it was only Edric's first day here, and maybe he was overwhelmed. It was one thing to know about the Circle, another entirely to find yourself stuck in the middle of their problems. It was a sure thing that it wasn't anything Edric had bargained for when he considered coming to Jorrvaskr.

"Yes, I can take him," Edric murmured, "but he won't like it."

"If it gets to the point where it's necessary, it won't matter whether he likes it or not." She rubbed her nose and went on, "No one wants Vilkas taken down, but I trust you can do it without killing him, if it comes to that. He's having some serious issues, and I'm going to suggest to the rest of the Circle that he no longer go out on missions with the other whelps, or alone. You know what we are and can manage him if needed."

A sour look on his face, he said, "Bad, bad idea."

"I'm trying to spare a shield-brother's dignity. If he's restricted to Jorrvaskr the other whelps will want to know why, and what his problem is. If he can get out once in a while he can let off some steam."

Edric tiredly countered, "Why doesn't he just get out and hunt, for fuck's sake?" Aela's only answer was a look of smug pleasure, and she folded her arms and quirked an eyebrow as she looked up at Farkas, who sighed in forbearance. Edric rubbed his forehead and said, "Look, I don't _care_ what you guys are. I've seen some shit, some really weird shit, and this doesn't even come close to it. Yeah, the old man told me everything, or at least I assume he did, because he wanted my opinion, and when I told him that refraining from the hunt probably would make no difference and Hircine would drag your asses to the Hunting Grounds anyway he didn't want to hear it, so I left it alone, because I didn't want to upset him."

"You really think that?" Farkas said with quiet dismay. Edric sighed and nodded. "Well shit. What am I supposed to do? I don't want to give up the hunt if it's pointless. I like hunting."

Edric slapped him gently on the upper arm and said, "If no one else is here, I'll go with you. I don't mind. I'll keep an eye out for the bad guys while you cavort around in the prairie flowers, or whatever it is you do. When you're better." He smiled briefly at Farkas then headed for the door, and right before it closed behind him he called back, "I mean it."

Aela looked at the door with an expression of surprise, murmuring, "I have a good feeling about this one." She glanced up at Farkas and added in a wry tone, "How good is your feeling, brother?"

"Aela," he muttered. "Not now."

"Hm, all right, I'll do it your way, for now." Aela sauntered off, heading for the back door.

Farkas sighed, feeling troubled but finally a little hopeful. The other members of the Circle liked Edric, well, except for Vilkas, but Vilkas didn't like much of anyone but Farkas these days. Even when he talked to Kodlak, Vilkas was filled with a tension that was always thrumming beneath the surface, always ready to snap, even at the Harbinger. Farkas trusted Edric's opinion, well-traveled as he seemed to be, and if he thought resisting the call of the blood was pointless then Farkas believed him. Edric seemed strong and trustworthy, someone that could be relied upon almost like another Circle member. He wasn't an ordinary whelp, for certain, and Kodlak had to agree if he was trusting Edric with information that only the Circle knew. Farkas had the feeling he would move up more quickly than anyone could guess.

He went to the table and sat down, and when he saw the half-finished ale that Edric had left behind he picked it up and took a drink, feeling a flutter at the thought of those sweetly-shaped lips wrapped around the bottle. So he had a little crush on Edric. It wasn't as if he could help it. The guy was…beautiful. He'd never thought of another man that way before, but that was exactly what Edric was, with those sweet eyes and thick eyelashes and soft mouth. And that hair. As he gazed at the fire and nursed his drink he wondered what Edric's hair looked like unbound, if it was straight and silky or had some wave to it. It looked soft, fine-textured. It would be so great to undo Edric's hair and just bury his face in it, and that sweet, spicy smell would be there, like a warm, fresh-baked sweetroll right out of the—

"Hey!" Farkas blinked and shook his head. Athis went on, "I was saying, what's the story with the newblood?"

"Oh, uh…his name is Edric. He was an adventurer. Spent a long time in the Legion, what, ten years I think? Quit to become a Stormcloak, then he left Ulfric's army a year ago to do his own thing."

Njada said, "And he's heading out on a job, just like that? On his own? His first day?"

Ria said, "You heard Aela. He beat Vilkas during the test! Can you imagine? What I wouldn't give to have seen that!"

Torvar scoffed, "That lil' snowberry didn't beat anyone, least not fair and square." Farkas made a sound of irritation, his eyes narrowing. Torvar waved him off. "C'mon, Farkas. Did you take a close look at him? Listen to him? I ain't got nothin' against a man who prefers riding stallions over mares, but I want to at least be able to tell it's a man."

Ria asked in confusion, "What's it to you?"

Farkas slowly rose from his seat, his fists clenched, furious. Athis slid his chair back and muttered to Torvar as he got up, "Now you're in for it, stupid fetcher. I'm not sticking around."

"I am," Njada said in anticipation, leaning back in her chair with a mug in her hand.

"You watch your mouth," Farkas growled at Torvar. The man was already well into his cups, but that didn't excuse anything. He wasn't going to let anyone talk about Edric that way.

Torvar clucked his tongue and said, "Ohhh, someone's already got her staked out, eh?" He yelped as Farkas hooked his boot under the chair and yanked it out from underneath him. Torvar hit the ground with a _whoof._ Farkas tossed the chair aside then grabbed the other man by the front of his leather armor and hauled him to his feet. "Whaaaat?" Torvar said innocently.

"You…" He blinked as a wave of dizziness made him nearly topple over, and he shoved Torvar away and muttered, "Forget it. Not worth it." Torvar kept his mouth shut, surprisingly, and Farkas took a deep breath to steady himself and made his way downstairs.

He shut and locked his door and lay down on his bed, feeling ill all of a sudden, but it passed after a few minutes. He stayed where he was, feeling irritated with Torvar. He couldn't understand what the drunk's problem was with Edric. Farkas had just assumed everyone would like him. He supposed Torvar didn't have a reason, and maybe didn't need one. But then maybe it was jealousy. Torvar was here because his father had ordered him here as a basically useless third son; if you weren't the Erling or Erlinga, the heir to the hold, you weren't much use to anyone except in a case of the heir dying, or as marriage material. If Torvar had any kind of personal fortitude he would have jumped on the opportunity to become a Companion and do something meaningful with his life, and instead he did just enough to get in then pouted and complained and drank up his earnings.

And in came Edric, who on his first day had bested Vilkas and had Kodlak's favor and the trust of two others of the Circle and was being sent out alone on a job halfway across the country like it was nothing, something most Companions either weren't supposed to do or usually didn't want to do, even the Circle. And Edric was...well, pretty. And did sometimes speak or act just a little effeminately, but only a tiny bit. Well it wasn't as if Edric could help it, and even if he could there was nothing wrong with it. Farkas liked all those things about him, and if Torvar didn't watch his mouth and Edric found out, Edric could more than handle the situation on his own. Farkas supposed he had overreacted a little. Edric wasn't his…whatever. Edric wasn't _his,_ end of story. But if Edric was, Farkas would have wiped the floor with Torvar.

He slowly sat up, wary of another dizzy spell, realizing he shouldn't have drunk that ale in his condition. Alcohol was off limits. He sat down at the bar and picked back up his whittling knife and the roughed-out block of wood. He wondered if Edric would stop by the Temple of Kynareth on his way out to receive the goddess' blessing. He hoped so. Maybe Edric would even be able to help Danica do something about the dead tree. Some Breton pilgrim had come to Whiterun a couple years ago and put up a huge fuss about how he'd traveled hundreds of miles through war and storms and blah blah blah only to end up looking at a dead tree, and Danica had humored him for a few weeks then sent him on his way again, and so the Gildergreen still sat, dead and dry, a few more of its branches cracking and falling off every time a strong wind blew. Now that the war was over and her time no longer spent on constant healing Danica had returned to her main duty of caring for the tree and the temple, but the tree didn't seem to be cooperating. Farkas wondered if Gildergreen wood was good for whittling then decided just as quickly that he didn't want to find out. Danica would have his hide. And maybe Kynareth would too, though some folk whispered that the Divine had killed the tree herself as a lesson, one that Danica wasn't paying attention to.

Maybe fifteen minutes later he heard his brother's particular footsteps then the angry slamming of his door, and Farkas sighed and left him alone. He wasn't sure where Vilkas had gone, and since there was no sound of city guards following him Farkas decided he didn't need to know.

**Vilkas**

Vilkas rapped his knuckles on the bar, and Hulda pursed her lips at him and said, "Don't you take that tone with me, Companion."

"My rapping had a tone?" he retorted.

"Yes it did."

He took a deep breath and said in a wheedling tone, "Please mum, may I have another?"

"You're an ass when you drink."

"According to some people I'm an ass all the time." Hulda shook her head at him and set another bottle of mead in front of him. He muttered his thanks and popped the cork out as she called out to whoever had walked through the door then headed for the kitchen. He wasn't drunk, wasn't even all that tipsy, not like the robed Breton next to him who seemed to be barely sitting up straight. Vilkas couldn't recall seeing him around Whiterun before, but the city was the center of the country and travel through it was frequent now. While that was good for trade, it was unsettling seeing new faces in town on a regular basis, with little idea of who they were or what they were really up to.

The Breton nudged him, and he growled at the man in aggravation. The man stank of liquor, his eyes and nose red, signs of a long-term, heavy drinker, and Bretons weren't known for their tolerance for alcohol. Edric at least- He growled again in annoyance as he realized Edric was the one who had just come through the door and was watching Vilkas and the Breton with a look of mixed amusement and dismay.

The Breton poked Vilkas in the ribs and said, "Hey, you look like someone who can hold their liquor. Howsabout a friendly contest to win a staff?"

Vilkas sneered at him. "A drinking contest? You don't stand a chance, Breton. You're already three sheets to the wind." He turned back to his drink. "I have no use for a staff. I am a warrior, not a milk-drinking wizard."

"It's _very_ valuable," the Breton murmured. Vilkas glanced at him, and he grinned and said, "Come now, surely you can best a wee Breton who—"

"All right, off you go." Vilkas looked up to see Edric standing behind them, motioning for the Breton to leave. Edric said to him, "You do _not_ want to drink with this guy, Vilkas. Trust me."

"Trust you?" Vilkas said in derision. "Right."

"Suit yourself. When you wake up in Markarth or wherever three days from now wearing nothing but the tattered shreds of your ruined pride, don't say I didn't warn you."

The Breton's expression turned to a pout as he said to Edric, "You used to be fun."

"Yeah, I used to be. But I can guarantee I'm still a lot more fun than _this_ guy," he stated, jerking his thumb at Vilkas. Vilkas gritted his teeth as Edric walked away, going upstairs.

The Breton held out his hand and said, "The name's Sam. Sam Guevenne. So…are we on?" Vilkas shook his hand and looked unsure, and the Breton took out a bottle and uncorked it. "This is a special brew, very strong stuff. I'm sure a big, manly Nord like you can handle it."

Vilkas took the bottle, and when he glanced at the Breton the man's black eyes were glittering in anticipation. "You know Edric, I take it?" he asked.

"Is that his name?" Sam murmured. "Yeah, you can say I know him, rather _intimately._ I pride myself on a certain level of, let's say, debauchery, but that one, well, it was certainly a night to remember."

Vilkas made a face of disgust and raised the bottle to his lips, then he caught a whiff of the bottle's contents. "What is this?" he asked suspiciously. He put his nose to the opening and sniffed, and his wolfish senses couldn't put a name to a single one of the contents. He shoved the bottle back into Sam's hands and leaned close, hissing, "You need to leave." The man's black eyes glimmered in a way that made Vilkas' skin crawl, and he drew in a deep breath and smelled something that was not Breton, that was not even human. It made his upper lip twitch with a growl as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Great," Sam drawled as he drew away and recorked the bottle, sliding it into his pocket. "Should've known better than to try to have fun with one of Hircine's boys." Vilkas heard someone coming down the stairs, probably Edric, and Sam pointed his finger at him and complained, "You're a party pooper."

"Maybe you should choose your targets a little more wisely, Uncle Sam," Edric answered. The Breton sniffed in disdain, standing up from the stool next to Vilkas, who still stared at Sam as if he was one second away from attacking him.

"Well I'm not exactly known for my judgment, laddie. If I'm not going to get my fun here, then you better tell me where I can. I'd hate to have to tell—"

"Riften," Edric quickly said. "Maven Black-Briar drinks at the Bee and Barb every night. I guarantee that her reaction will be more than worth the inconvenience. But you're going to have to be a bit more… subtle in your approach."

"Maven," Sam murmured, then a grin spread over his face. "Yeah, Maven!" He chuckled and strode out of the Bannered Mare like a man on a mission.

Edric snorted and shook his head, then he hoisted his pack on his back and said to Vilkas, "You can thank me later."

Once Edric was gone, Vilkas sat there for a few seconds, trying to collect his wits, wondering what in Oblivion had just happened, or nearly happened, then he angrily threw several septims on the counter and went out after the newblood. He saw Edric at Carlotta's stall, probably buying rations for the road, though where he was going this soon after joining was a mystery. Sam Guevenne was nowhere to be seen, and there was no scent trail either. Unsettled, Vilkas waited by the town well for Edric to pay for his purchases and stow them away. The young man had a dwarven bow strapped to his back and a steel helmet on his head, the braid trailing down out of it. Edric glanced at him as he put the pack on his shoulder then turned away and started walking down the road out of town.

"Wait," Vilkas called in irritation, following. Edric paused and turned, and Vilkas came up to him and angrily muttered, "What the hell was all that? Where did Sam—"

"Sanguine." Vilkas blinked in shock, his mouth falling open slightly. "That was Sanguine, Vilkas. You were being set up by a Daedric prince for something that I don't think you would ever be able to live down." Vilkas shuddered, horrified. Edric grumbled, "Yeah, I fell for it once, a few years ago. While I was staying at the Nightgate Inn. I woke up three days later in the Temple of Dibella with the priestesses screaming at me, naked as the day I was born and 'Sam' long gone."

"He said he knew you…intimately." Edric's cheeks flushed a bit at that as his eyes shifted away. Vilkas' nose wrinkled in disgust. "You fucked a Daedric prince?"

"Not that I remember. Could've been, but it's more likely he fucked me. It sure as hell felt like someone did. Several someones." Vilkas made a sound of horror, repulsed, and Edric added thoughtfully, "I might've fucked a Hagraven though. She was awfully upset when I broke off our engagement."

"You sick son of a bitch!" Vilkas whispered, bewildered. Gods, this was revolting. He saw Edric's lips quirk the slightest bit, as if the younger man was trying not to start laughing. Well this wasn't funny. Not one bit.

"I might've even fucked a goat that night. Like I said, I don't really remember. The goat didn't seem scared of me later though, so maybe I didn't. Stella, Gelda…no, Gleda. That was her name."

"The hagraven?"

"No, the goat. The hagraven's name was Moira." Edric took a deep breath and gazed off into the distance. "Lovely, she was. For a hagraven, anyway. Silkiest feathers I ever felt."

Vilkas growled furiously and stalked off. He knew when he was being screwed with, and he didn't goddamn well appreciate it. He stormed up to Jorrvaskr, everyone including the guards falling out of his way. All he'd wanted was a little peace and quiet away from his shield-siblings and of course along comes Edric with his bullshit. There was no way that Sam person was a Daedra, let alone a Daedric prince. Maybe the guy was trying to drug him, possibly to rob him or even kidnap him for ransom, but Vilkas wasn't about to fall for Edric's shit. He wasn't stupid.

The mead hall was empty, blessedly quiet, the whelps probably outdoors training. Vilkas went downstairs, hearing Tilma's quavering voice in Kodlak's quarters, perhaps trying to get him to eat. He glared at Farkas' door as he entered their hall then went into his room and slammed the door shut then went and sat on the edge of his bed, closing his eyes and balling his fists as he struggled to calm himself. It was hard, so damn hard.

He got up to pace, obsessing over the encounter in the Bannered Mare. Surely that Sam guy hadn't been Sanguine himself. And yet he had known Edric on sight. _You used to be fun._ He'd known Edric but not what his name was. And he'd threatened to tell someone something if Edric didn't give him a different target. Maybe tell Vilkas how thoroughly depraved Edric was. Vilkas didn't believe a fraction of what Edric had said about his night with 'Uncle Sam', but there had been something fishy about the not-Breton, and that drink. And Sam had known what Vilkas was. Vilkas could only be glad that no one had been close enough to hear Sam's accusation of Vilkas' nature.

He pulled open his door and went into his brother's room, or tried to, finding it locked. Farkas never locked his door. Vilkas banged on it, and he heard an annoyed grumble then it was opened. His twin was whittling again. "I need to talk to you," he demanded.

"Uh, okay," Farkas said warily. Vilkas came in and slammed the door, and Farkas sighed, "Do you have to keep slamming things?"

"What do you know about the newblood?"

Farkas sat back down on the stool and shrugged one shoulder. "He told me he joined the Legion at sixteen, and he's going to be thirty in a few weeks, so he must've been in for about ten years. He quit to join Ulfric's rebellion. He quit that when it was over and he's adventured since then."

"He told me he got his sword in Solstheim."

"Huh. He probably could've. I don't doubt he did. I get the feeling he's traveled a lot. You know, Torvar seems jealous of him."

"Why?"

Another shrug. "Don't know. Kept saying how he's too pretty to be a man and there's no way he bested you in the yard."

"He did not best me!" Vilkas protested.

"How did he do then?"

"His skills were adequate to join. I told you that earlier: he's very skilled."

"That's it?" Vilkas growled, his fists clenched. "So he wasn't just adequate." Vilkas refused to answer; of course he hadn't been just adequate. Farkas turned back to his whittling as he said, "Aela sent him on a job. Frostbite spiders in Redbelly Mine."

"Again?"

"What do you mean?"

"About eighteen months ago when I went through there, Filnjar the smith said that the Dragonborn had just cleared them out of the mine."

"Weird. Well Edric can handle them." He shuddered. "Better him than me."

His anger finally subsiding, Vilkas sat on Farkas' bed and said, "I'm surprised Aela gave him a job on his first day."

"He was feeling kind of restless, told her he was eager to get started. She said she liked his spirit. She actually seems to like him." Farkas shrugged. "No reason anyone wouldn't like him."

"Except for the fact that he's full of shit," Vilkas spat, the anger returning. Farkas sighed and set down the knife then looked at his twin with an expression that told Vilkas he was losing his patience. "You wouldn't believe the line of utter bullshit he just fed me. I was sitting in the Bannered Mare minding my own business when he came in, and some poncy Breton was challenging me to a drinking contest, and next thing you know Edric is telling me not to do it and saying the guy was Sanguine!"

"Like the Daedra Sanguine?" Farkas said in shock.

"The very same. The guy knew him, too. By sight, not by name, and when Edric left this 'Sam' told me he knew Edric _intimately._ That he 'used to be fun' and they had a 'night to remember', and I quote."

Farkas' jaw tensed as he turned to the bar, setting down the block of linden wood. "So? A guy that looks like that probably gets around, so what?"

Vilkas' eyes narrowed at this twin's reaction, and it only added to his aggravation. So the big oaf really was infatuated with the newblood. How fantastic. It went against everything the two of them had been taught since they were just pups. What in Oblivion did Farkas think, that he could carry on with a shield-sibling and no one would blink an eye? It simply wasn't done. "Edric told me he woke up in the Temple of Dibella with a sore ass and found out he was engaged to a hagraven then something about a goat named Gleda. As if I'm supposed to believe—" Farkas suddenly snorted then broke into laughter. "It isn't funny, dammit!"

"Sure it is. It's fucking hilarious."

"No it isn't! It means either he was shitting me for his own amusement or it was all true and I nearly ended up tricked by a demon! Either way it's horrible!"

"What, you think you're too good to get fucked by a Daedric prince and engaged to a hagraven?" Vilkas struggled with that, torn between laughing at the utter ridiculousness of it and letting go of his anger or continuing to be irritated. He honestly couldn't decide. Farkas said, "Look, maybe Edric did you a favor, warning you about the guy. Was anything weird about him?"

"Yes," Vilkas admitted with extreme reluctance. "Whatever he tried to give me to drink smelled…wrong. He smelled wrong. He knew I was a werewolf. Then he left the inn and disappeared."

"See? Edric doesn't mean you any harm. He doesn't mean anyone any harm."

"I never said he meant actual harm."

"He only teases you because you react to it. You make it too easy."

"He should treat those of us in the Circle with a little respect," Vilkas said firmly.

Farkas rolled his eyes and leaned his elbow on the bar. "You're the only one he's halfway needled, Vilkas. Because you're the only one who got pushy with him, I'm guessing. Give him a chance, all right? He saved my life. He…he's trying to help."

Vilkas said with difficulty, "He's joined at a bad time." He let out a long breath. Again, he had overreacted. He knew that, and yet when it was happening it was nearly impossible to stop. He knew Edric didn't mean anyone here any harm. The old man trusted the whelp, with that uncanny sixth sense he had with people, and that should have been enough for Vilkas. That Edric had saved Farkas' life should have made it doubly so.

"I don't think so. Neither do Aela or Skjor. Or Kodlak, obviously. You're the only one who thinks so." Vilkas scowled, though not at Farkas. His twin slid off the stool and came over to sit by him, and Vilkas huffed and leaned into him. Farkas quietly said, "Kodlak might not live through the winter, brother."

"I know," Vilkas whispered.

"It's his right to choose the next Harbinger. If he chooses Skjor, and he still might even with the rift between them lately, Skjor will want the pack whole again. The Circle has always held five, beastblood or not."

Bristling, Vilkas growled, "If you think that whelp will join the Circle you're mad. Athis has been here nine years."

"Membership in the Circle has always been based on ability, not seniority. Edric has the ability." Vilkas' fists clenched as he glared at his brother, and Farkas pressed, "Does he have the ability or not?" Vilkas didn't answer, and Farkas' voice hardened as he demanded, "You tell it to me straight, damn it. You think I'm going to rub your nose in it, or tell anyone? What happened in the yard today?" When Vilkas hesitated Farkas huffed in annoyance and stood.

"I gave him the shitty training sword," Vilkas muttered, leaning forward to put his forehead in his palms, his elbows on his knees. "He knew it was bad, as any warrior with an ounce of experience could tell. He proceeded to attack me with no sign it was coming. One second we were talking and the next I had to defend myself. He had no tells, the entire time. He backed me into the corner by the Skyforge and I had to roll out of it. The training shield dented so deeply it pressed into the cuff of my gauntlet. My arm went numb with the force of his blows. His expression never changed, the entire time. It was as if he was someone else while he was fighting."

Appeased, Farkas said, "I told you about the other night, didn't I? He came out of nowhere. He blew through seven Silver Hand like the breath of Kyne herself."

Unsettled, Vilkas lifted his head. "Breath of Kyne," he whispered. A chill went up his spine as he remembered Ulfric's words almost a year ago: _Have you ever seen him fight, Companion? He is a force of nature, the very breath of Kyne._ But…it couldn't be. There was no way Edric could be Dragonborn. Danica had been very clear that there was no possible way to fix the damage that the Dragonborn had taken in Sovngarde. There was no better healer in Skyrim than her and she had been adamant about it. If Vilkas hadn't seen the wreck that the man was with his own eyes it would be tempting to think Edric really was the Dragonborn. So many things seemed to fit. But Vilkas had seen the ruin of his face, the crippling limp, and it had still been present six months after that. The Dragonborn had clearly been in pain even though he hadn't physically struck the dragon. There was simply no possible way that Edric could be Dragonborn.

"He didn't take a scratch. They never got anywhere near him. He wasn't even winded. It was like… like he danced through them. I thought he was a girl at first, the way he moved, well, and the hair." Farkas sighed wistfully. "I wonder how long it took his hair to grow like that."

Vilkas said in quiet warning, "Skjor told me what you were doing, Farkas. With Edric, when they found you."

His cheeks reddening, Farkas countered, "Edric didn't know. He was asleep. So was I, we just ended up…that way. It was warm, and…he smelled good. Like…cinnamon. He smelled like the porridge Tilma made for us when we were kids. Warm and spicy and…good. That's all it was."

Vilkas was not at all convinced of that, and it hurt that Farkas was lying to him. It was so obvious that his brother was smitten with Edric that it made Vilkas want to grab his twin and shake him until his teeth rattled. Relationships between Companions were not allowed, and that was that, regardless of the genders involved, and it was completely inappropriate for a member of the Circle to bed a whelp. It was a violation of protocol. It could lead to a whole host of problems that the Circle did _not_ need right now. And then there was the simple fact that Farkas was lying. That maybe he'd been lying to Vilkas all along. Farkas fidgeted uncomfortably under his brother's stare for a moment then returned to the bar to take up his whittling again, probably thinking he was being very nonchalant about it. Well he wasn't. Vilkas wasn't fooled one bit. "Well then," he said casually, standing, "I suppose I will see you tonight when the Circle meets."

"Uh, sure."

He went to the door and opened it, then he paused and looked back at his brother, seeing Farkas was staring at the block of wood, his jaw clenched. "When you are better, we should visit Falkreath again. I would like to see Narri. I've been thinking lately, about our future. She would be a good match. Kodlak is certain a cure is on the horizon, and we aren't getting any younger, you know." Farkas grimaced, almost as if he was in pain, and it set Vilkas' blood to boiling. It was the first time Farkas hadn't been agreeable to the visit. But he didn't say no, and Vilkas left it at that, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

_**And Part 3 of 3**_

* * *

**Farkas - 12th of Heartfire, 4E205**

The moment Farkas entered the Underforge he knew trouble was brewing, but then he had known it since seeing Vilkas storm away from Aela earlier that day. Vilkas was standing behind the font, practically trembling with rage, the air rank with the smell of stress and anger, mixed with the faint scent of sickness coming from their Harbinger, who was leaning heavily on Farkas and Skjor as they led him into the cave.

"Now Vilkas," Kodlak wheezed as they drew close, "you are already on the defensive and no one has said a word yet." He narrowed his eyes at Aela. "Have you, sister?"

"No I have not," she said crisply. "I only have so much breath and don't believe in wasting it."

"Hm."

Farkas unfolded a camp stool for the old man and Skjor eased Kodlak down into it then moved away, going to stand between Vilkas and the exit from the Underforge. Farkas saw Vilkas eye Skjor with suspicion, and when Farkas took up a similar position behind Kodlak to guard the door Vilkas snarled. Farkas didn't blame him for getting upset, because this was exactly what it looked like. Farkas was upset about it too, necessary as it was.

"What the hell is this!" Vilkas shouted.

"You know what it is, brother," Aela stated. "After today's display…you know that this is."

Skjor added, "You're endangering the Circle. You're becoming a danger to the whelps."

"Bullshit," Vilkas spat. Farkas felt a pang of grief and worry as his twin's pupils constricted and his canines extended. "I can't believe this…this betrayal! You're all turning against me!"

Kodlak said sternly, "That is not at all what is happening here, son. We do this out of love and the bloodbond we all share. No matter that we have given up the hunt, we are still part of this pack, this family."

"You told me to do this!" Vilkas cried. "You told me to give it up!"

"I know, but—"

"It isn't my fault!"

"No one is implying it is," Skjor said, not unkindly. "But if you're going to continue in this…folly, then we need to find a way to manage your beast."

Aela stated, "He needs to change and hunt. End of story."

Vilkas growled, "And I say I will not. This is what I have decided and by Ysmir that is what I will do!"

She spat, "Fine, be a fool, but if you insist on this then you will no longer leave Jorrvaskr's grounds." Vilkas bared his teeth at her, his lips pulling back from teeth that were all starting to sharpen now, his skin beginning to sprout tufts of dark fur. "Yes, go ahead and change then! Perhaps it will buy you a few more months of sanity, brother!"

"Aela!" Kodlak barked. "That is enough!"

"He is dangerous!" she insisted. "Did Ria tell you what he did on their last job? How even once he had the targets down he continued hacking at them? She said she nearly vomited from the carnage. He almost changed in front of the whelps today, right in the mead hall. He cannot be allowed to leave Jorrvaskr any longer."

Farkas bit his lip as Vilkas made a whining sound and put his hands in his hair, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to control himself. "Please brother," he pleaded. "Just take the ring."

"No," Vilkas whined.

Skjor said with quiet firmness, "If you refuse the ring then you'll have to stay here. Even here you're not safe if you can't control yourself in front of the younglings. If you turned in front of them we would have to destroy either you or all of them, and either way there's risk of exposing the entire Circle. Don't put us in the position of deciding which shield-sibling to kill."

Vilkas let his hands fall and Farkas swallowed the lump in his throat at the torment there. "Please Vilkas," he whispered. His twin rubbed his eyes, looking exhausted and near tears.

Kodlak coughed then said to Farkas' twin, "Vilkas, come here." Vilkas hesitated, fidgeting, his hands bunched into fists, then he took halting steps to the Harbinger. The old man held his hand out to him and Vilkas flexed his fingers then took it, and Kodlak pulled him down to kneel at his level. He kept hold of Vilkas' hand as he said in a rough voice, "I'm sorry, son. I'm sorry for putting this on you." Vilkas shook his head, his jaw clenched as he looked away. "The ring…I do not blame you for not wanting to wear Hircine's badge. But it is not surrender. It is a tool, and only for now. The ring fell into our hands as a gift."

"I refuse to be obligated to that whelp!" Vilkas said through gritted teeth.

"Why?" Vilkas refused to answer, or maybe didn't even know why. Kodlak stated, "Edric will be a full shield-brother before much longer. He needs no training, other than to be taught our history and our code. When I die…" He took a deep breath, or tried to, and broke into hacking coughs that left his lips red with blood. Vilkas made a sound of grief and laid his head on the old man's knee. "When I die, Skjor will follow me as Harbinger." The one-eyed warrior let out a long breath and nodded slowly. Farkas wasn't surprised. There really was no one else. "I can only ask that no others be given the blood."

Skjor shook his head and said, "I can't make that promise, old friend."

"Will you at least swear to make them understand the choice they are making?"

Aela stated, "The choice has always been clear: take the blood or no admittance to the Circle. That is the only choice that matters."

"No," Kodlak said angrily. "That is no choice at all. Would you leave them ignorant of the full implications of their choice? At the least you must admit that by taking the beastblood you are denying a member of the Circle the chance to reach the Hall of Valor. If you would hide that fact from a warrior then perhaps your honor should be called into question, Huntress."

She glared at him for a long moment, the two of them locked into a silent battle of wills, then she lowered her eyes. "Of course not, Harbinger," she muttered.

"Hm." Kodlak looked away from her then back to Vilkas, still holding the younger man's hand. Vilkas lifted his head, feeling the old man's gaze. "Will you take the ring? Only until a cure is found. It will put you in control of your transformations. There will no longer be any danger of the beast gaining control of you." Vilkas' mouth twisted as he wrestled with the decision.

Farkas came over to kneel by his brother, and he whispered, "Please Vilkas. Do it for me. I hate worrying about you all the time."

"Do it for you," Vilkas replied with resentment. Farkas nodded, hopeful. Vilkas licked his lips, and after a tense moment he said, "Fine, I will do it, but I will ask you to do something for me later in return, and you will do it, without question."

"Anything!" Farkas agreed with a nod. Of course he would. He heard Kodlak grumble as he let go of Vilkas' hand, and when Farkas looked up at the Harbinger the old man was staring at Vilkas with narrowed eyes, his expression cold and disapproving. Kodlak had always had a way of seeing into people, of knowing what was in their hearts, and he obviously didn't like what he was seeing in Vilkas right now. Well Farkas didn't care, as long as his brother wore the ring and wasn't in danger of being put down or hurting the whelps. He would do anything at all to avoid that.

Vilkas stood and held out his hand, saying, "Give me the ring." Aela came forward and held it out to him, and he snatched it from her and shoved it onto his right ring finger. He blinked and took a deep breath, looking shocked.

"Feel better?" Farkas asked expectantly.

"I…yes." Vilkas looked at his hand, frowning slightly as he stared at the wolf's head, then he blew out a long breath and let his hand fall.

"Great," Farkas said happily, and his twin nodded, suddenly looking embarrassed. Vilkas had no reason to be. It wasn't his fault his beast was so hard to control.

Kodlak cleared his throat and looked at Skjor. "So," he said gravely, "back to the matter of the Circle's future. I want you to swear that any new members of the Circle will be given a choice as to whether to take the blood or not." Skjor didn't answer right away. "You risk diminishing the Companions even further than we currently are. We were once fifteen strong, when I came here as a young man. I have watched those intended for the Circle leave Jorrvaskr and never return. Strong, capable warriors who would have been an asset to us, gone forever, because they didn't wish to become a beast. Would you really turn away such a person?"

"They always have the option of staying a whelp," Aela said in contempt.

"The kind of folk we want to join the Circle would never be satisfied with that, and so they leave when they refuse the blood. Why can there not be some kind of compromise? If they wish to sell their souls to a Daedra, then by all means, let them, but if they do not, would you turn them away?"

"Are we talking about someone in particular?" Skjor asked in a mock thoughtful tone.

"No," Vilkas stated angrily. "Not Edric. I will not have some stranger walk into this hall and pass by someone who has worked towards it for nine years."

Aela said, "Athis hasn't been 'working towards it'. Athis came here expecting nothing, wanting only the honor and glory of being a Companion. I have _never_ heard him say he wanted to join the Circle, unlike that halfwit Torvar."

"Even an elf can sometimes have the heart of a Nord," Skjor stated. "I like Athis well enough. He's a solid Companion and shield-brother. He even helps train Ria and Njada in small blades when they can scrape up the coin for it. But he has no fire. No ambition. Coin in his pocket and a roof over his head and the name Companion seem to be enough for him. He won't train the others unless they pay him and he doesn't want the responsibility of any kind of leadership."

"That isn't someone I want in the Circle," Aela said with a shake of her head. "I like the elf well enough too, but—"

Vilkas said in offended bewilderment, "Why are we discussing this when the newblood only arrived today? This is fucking ridiculous!"

Skjor said, "Maybe because we all see something in him you can't. Or won't."

"And maybe I see something in him none of the rest of you will allow yourselves to see."

Aela stated, "Your vision hasn't exactly been unclouded lately, brother."

"He is hiding something!" Vilkas protested. "I saw it in his eyes, out in the yard. How do we know he isn't wanted somewhere? My idiot brother meets some pretty stranger in a field and we're supposed-"

Farkas launched himself to his feet with a deep growl of warning, but Kodlak grabbed his wrist to stop him. "No," Kodlak murmured. Farkas subsided, his body tense with anger. Kodlak let go of him and looked up at Vilkas. "Would it make any difference to you if I knew all about the lad?" Vilkas' eyes slid over to the old man then they dropped. "Yes Vilkas, he is hiding something. He's hiding a great many things. Most of what he is hiding is pain, and I will not have it added to in this house by someone I have considered a son." Vilkas folded his arms and looked away, seeming embarrassed. "My body might be rotting away, but my mind is still sound, boy. I know everything about Edric. And that _is_ his real name, before you question that too."

"I was not going to," Vilkas said in a small voice.

"I swore to the lad that I would keep his secrets, until he feels ready to divulge them. Yes, if you must know, he is wanted, but by the Empire, as a deserter, like the hundreds of other Nord Legionaries who defected to Ulfric's banner. I hardly think the Empire is going to send a bounty hunter after one defector considering the much larger problems they have on their hands. Edric came to this hall seeking sanctuary. A home. Family. It is beyond me why you feel so threatened by him." Vilkas' eyes lifted to his brother briefly then he huffed and looked away again, but to Farkas' relief the others didn't seem to notice, or didn't let on that they did. "Edric holds his honor dear. He is not a criminal and does not tolerate criminals. He is a wounded soul who only wishes to get on with his life."

"Fine," Vilkas muttered.

Satisfied, Kodlak looked up at Skjor, then Aela. "Now. The Silver Hand." Aela and Skjor glanced at each other, and he said to them, "You've been provoking them, haven't you. These 'jobs' you've been taking together aren't jobs, are they? You've provoked them and now they're at our very doorstep."

Aela angrily said, "They have been hunting our kind all across Skyrim. Torturing our brothers and sisters in the blood, murdering them. Why should their offenses go unpunished?"

"Because you will end up pushing them into coming here, to Jorrvaskr. You will push them into exposing what we are. Edric found out what we are over two years ago from cleaning out three separate Silver Hand camps that he had taken for bandits. What if it had been someone else? What if it had been someone who panicked and took the documents to the nearest Jarl, or the High King? Or the Dawnguard? Isran won't care that we worked for him. He considers werewolves one step above vampires, and he would like to find a new challenge to turn his attention to. We have our allies of a sort, but they would not be able to protect us."

Skjor said, "We could protect ourselves just fine if we pulled the pack back together and rooted out the problem."

"And yet that is not going to happen. I have made my choice, as has Vilkas. And Farkas. Or has he?"

Farkas fidgeted as the old man looked up at him and the other three's silver eyes turned to him. "Uh," he murmured. "Well…"

"You had better," Vilkas said through his teeth. "You had damn well better."

"It is his choice to make," Kodlak counseled. "Let him make it on his own."

Farkas hesitated, fidgeting restlessly, then he said in a halting tone, "It's just…I like the hunt. My beast doesn't bother me. Sovngarde sounds nice, but…well Edric says—"

"Edric says!" Vilkas yelled. "Who gives a shit what Edric says!"

"I do!"

"And why is that?" he retorted snidely. "Why don't you tell us all just why that is, brother?" Farkas made a scoffing sound of embarrassed anger. He could feel his face warming and couldn't stop it.

Kodlak said in angry disbelief, "What the hell is wrong with you, Vilkas?" The twins stared at each other furiously then Vilkas growled and looked away. "Edric gave me his…educated opinion on the matter. He has had dealings with many Daedra in his travels, but our situation is unique. He politely gave me his take on it then let it go. This is our choice to make."

Skjor said in a tired tone, "Look, I respect your stance on this, brother. I once looked forward to the pleasures of Sovngarde, before taking the blood. But the beast is _now._ This is our lives, now. I have no problem knowing that I go to the Hunting Grounds when I die. Neither does Aela. Knowing what the choice would be, it is still one I would have made. It's one that some people will still make, given the chance."

"Then that is their choice, if they are given the chance to make it."

The two older men gazed at each other for a long moment, then Skjor sighed and nodded. "Fine. When I become Harbinger, I will make any new members of the Circle aware of the consequences of their choice to take the blood, or not. If they refuse they will still be allowed to join the Circle. I swear this on my honor as a Companion." Kodlak closed his eyes and let out a long breath of relief then smiled and nodded. "If Edric joins the Circle, that will also be his choice to make."

"I can only hope that the grief he carries does not push him into making choices he will regret."

"Even if it does, it will still be his choice. Maybe by that time his pain will lessen to the point where it won't be an influence."

Farkas frowned in confusion as the two old warriors talked. He didn't entirely get what they were talking about. Maybe Kodlak knew everything about Edric, which was good to know, but Farkas hadn't thought that Skjor did. It was sad hearing them talk about Edric's grief and pain. He could only hope that one day Edric trusted him enough to tell him about it. Maybe Edric had lost someone he loved in the war, like so many had. The war had been over for nearly a year though. Wasn't that enough time to get over someone? Farkas had no idea. He hadn't fallen in love since he was in his early twenties, and at that age you moped over it for a week or two then moved on. He wasn't sure Vilkas had ever fallen in love. He never let anyone close enough for long enough for it to happen, and not for lack of wanting.

He glanced at his twin and Vilkas was still stewing in his own temper, staring past all of them with his arms folded, scowling. Farkas let out a silent sigh, feeling sad and torn. He still didn't know what to do about his beast. He would have given up the hunt if Edric hadn't offered to go out with him and protect him. He wouldn't have been able to resist Aela's mating heat in the spring any more than Vilkas could, but the rest of the time he would've had to find some way to manage, and there wasn't another ring. Kodlak hadn't changed at all in a year, but he was distracted by his sickness, and at this point the change might kill him. Farkas didn't think he would have the trouble Vilkas did, but he didn't want to have to struggle. The sleepless nights were annoying, but if what Edric said was true then Farkas could still get cured someday, if or when a cure was found, and the time in between wouldn't matter.

As the others continued discussing the Silver Hand, Farkas felt relieved that no one asked him again about his choice. He stayed still and silent, not even risking a glance at his twin, afraid he'd find those silver eyes exactly like this own staring back at him with resentment and even betrayal. Better to not look at all. Edric would be back from Shor's Stone in a week or so and Farkas might be completely better by then and ready to hunt. It would be so great to go hunting with him. It would be weird to change in front of someone who wasn't also a werewolf, and to hunt in front of him, but it would be interesting to see how he reacted. Edric hadn't been disgusted with him, hadn't been scared of him in beast form. But that had been when Farkas was lying on the ground, weak and vulnerable. Farkas still remembered that soft voice, the touch of his hand, and the touch of his hand again the next morning, warm and slightly rough.

He sighed happily, thinking of Edric and his sweetroll hair and grass-green eyes, that boyish voice and the way he smirked when he smiled. He wondered where Edric was right now, if he had a horse of his own or had thought to borrow one of the horses the Companions kept stabled outside the city with Skulvar Sable-Hilt. He'd probably be somewhere near Valtheim Towers, camping for the night. The ruin was frequently inhabited by bandits, but Farkas doubted they would give Edric any trouble if that was the case, any more than they would give Farkas or any of the rest of the Circle any trouble. Edric would easily clean the place out and have a dry, warm place to sleep overnight.

Kodlak's grasp on his wrist broke him out of his daydreaming, and he shook himself and leaned down to help the old man out of his seat. It was upsetting to feel how frail he was, when for so much of the twins' life he had been a big, robust man. Vilkas strode past all of them and was first out of the Underforge, probably still angry, and it made Farkas wonder if he'd missed something. He hadn't heard any yelling. Skjor took Kodlak's other arm while Aela picked up the camp stool and followed them inside Jorrvaskr, where Vilkas had already retreated to his quarters to sulk or brood or whatever he was currently in the mood to do.

The other older warrior helped Farkas get Kodlak into bed, and Skjor stared at Kodlak for a moment then gently gripped his hand and left. Farkas moved to do so as well but Kodlak caught his hand.

"Stay for a moment, son," he whispered. Farkas nodded and Kodlak patted the side of the bed. He tried to stifle the cough that came on and couldn't, and when it was over he licked the blood off his lips and whispered, "Water." Farkas quickly went out to the sitting area and poured the Harbinger a goblet of water and helped the old man sit up to drink it. He laid Kodlak back into the bed and Farkas sat down at his side, not even trying to hide the look of sadness on his face. "You're a good man, Farkas."

"I try to be, Harbinger," he answered haltingly.

Kodlak shook his head. "No, you simply are. You have a tender heart. Perhaps that was why Jergen was gentler with you than he was with Vilkas. Vilkas has always had to struggle against everything, never accepts anything at face value."

Farkas nodded, knowing that quite well, remembering their father at his wit's end with Vilkas, who questioned every order Jergen gave, never missed an opportunity to tell him he was wrong, until by the time Jergen left the two fought constantly. Farkas thought they had been too much alike. He'd said that to Vilkas once as teens and his twin hadn't spoken to him for two full days, ignoring his existence even though they'd shared a room. Vilkas was so bitter about Jergen leaving that he refused to even admit the man had been their father, even though anyone with eyes could see that they looked just like him. Jergen had tried not to play favorites but Farkas knew that he had been the preferred twin, simply because he didn't make things hard. It wasn't as if Vilkas could help it though.

"Your brother doesn't handle change well. Which you of course know. There have been many changes here recently, with many more to come. I fear Vilkas will not make them easy on anyone, and he allows no one close enough anymore to help him manage. The ring will only keep him from transforming against his will. It won't improve his temperament. Only the cure will."

"I just…I worry. That until then he'll do something. Make too many people angry with him, or scared of him. He'll push everyone to the point where even after he's cured there's so much resentment that there won't be any fixing it."

"Then it will be on Vilkas to fix it. Not you. Your brother has held you too close for too long. You're the easy way out for him. It keeps him from having to make an effort on his own. You two need to find your own way." He took a deep breath, coughed slightly then sighed. "This…animosity he feels towards Edric. It troubles me. I know Jergen didn't handle the boy well and was too harsh with him, and then on the other end of things Tilma cosseted and spoiled the two of you. I took Vilkas in hand the best I knew how, and while I like to think he would be even worse if I hadn't, I still wonder lately where I went wrong."

Feeling defensive of his brother, Farkas said, "Vilkas is a good person."

"Yes, deep down. But until he's cured it's going to be hard to remember that." He rubbed his eyes. "I had hoped he would respond better to Edric."

"I don't understand why he doesn't. Everyone else seems to like Edric, even Aela. I don't see why anyone wouldn't like him." Even as much as he loved his twin, he very clearly saw why people were wary of Vilkas, even before this last year. And he supposed Torvar didn't like Edric either, but then Torvar was an ass. A jealous ass.

"Well, Edric is a little…different."

"Plenty of men like other men." As soon as the words left his mouth he could tell how defensive they had sounded.

Kodlak laughed and patted Farkas' knee. "Oh no. No son, I didn't mean that. No one judges that up here, and not much anywhere else. Some folk are simply born that way, as Dibella dictated, under the stars that Arkay chose for them at birth. Edric is very comfortable with what he is, as anyone should be. It's wrong to pretend you're something you are not, and even more wrong of another to decide for you."

Farkas whispered, "I guess so." Of course the Harbinger was right. There didn't seem to be any secret knowledge in the old man's eyes, but it wasn't hard for Farkas to guess who the comment was really directed at. He huffed unhappily, thinking again of Edric. He hadn't been so…enamored of anyone before. Enchanted. All the things that drew Farkas seemed to repel Vilkas. He had the terrible feeling that Vilkas knew exactly how he felt about Edric, how he felt in general, and was going to make it hard. Well, he'd known that all along and that was why he'd hidden it. And no one should have to hide what they really were, and it was unfair of Vilkas to try to make him into something he wasn't. It was selfish. And it hurt, because Vilkas had never been selfish before. Not like this.

"What I meant was, Edric is different from any other recruit that has come through our doors. Vilkas is unsettled because he has nothing Edric wants or needs, or so he thinks. Edric could use a brother, but I'm starting to think Vilkas won't allow it," Kodlak said with regret. "I wish Edric had come to us sooner, but…I suppose that simply wasn't possible." He patted Farkas' knee again. "It's kind of you to defend your brother, however don't let him rule you. I know it's hard, but he isn't himself lately. Or he's too much himself, rather. Edric could use your friendship. Your kind heart could help soothe his broken one."

"So…he lost someone."

"Yes, someone he loved very dearly. He lost him near the end of the war, a fellow soldier. It wounded him so deeply he didn't want to go on living. It…" He took a deep breath, his eyes misting over, then went in a rough voice, "Even thinking about it rips my heart to shreds. Such a wound takes time to heal. Sometimes it never heals."

Farkas nodded, looking down at his hands, his chest aching. So that was the sadness that never seemed to entirely leave those sweet green eyes. It had been a year though. Surely that was long enough to get over the grief. Maybe before had been so bad that this was an improvement, who knew. Well, Kodlak probably knew. Maybe Skjor did too. Maybe Edric's coming here now meant he was ready to get on with his life, albeit reluctantly. But then he had shown up right before lunch and had taken a job first chance he got and taken off again, instead of sticking around to get to know everyone. In hindsight that wasn't the best sign. He had been willing to help though, handing over the ring for Vilkas without hesitation. He had kept Vilkas from getting drunk with a Daedra. Both things unfortunately had only seemed to feed Vilkas' irrational dislike of the younger man.

Kodlak went on, "Be a friend to Edric and in time he will return that friendship, and perhaps after that cure is found he and Vilkas will come to an understanding."

"I hope so."

"One last thing. About your brother."

"Yeah?" Farkas replied warily.

"This promise he extracted from you. Do _not_ let him make you sell your soul for it."

"He wouldn't do that!"

"That he made you swear to it at all is wrong of him. I fear he will use that promise against you one day, and you will both end up suffering for it. You should be true to yourself, son. Your twin is not your keeper. Don't let yourself get turned into his keeper either."

"I won't," he promised.

He bid the old man goodnight and left, heading to his room. He heard the sound of muffled punches in Vilkas' room as he hit a training dummy. Farkas hadn't thought Vilkas had one in there, but maybe he had dragged one in at some point and Farkas didn't know it; Vilkas was much more likely to go into Farkas' room than vice versa. His twin's compulsive tidiness got on his nerves within seconds of going in there, seeing things neatly arranged on his desk, the books lined up perfectly on the shelves, his armor always set up properly on its stand no matter how tired Vilkas was. Everything was completely orderly and completely under control. Farkas thought there was probably some kind of point being made there.

He went into his messy, comfortable room and shut the door. It was close to midnight but he wasn't tired, his mind unsettled, so he sat down at the bar and picked up the linden wood. He was making such good progress that he might even get it done before Edric returned. He knew Edric would appreciate it. He could just imagine the look of surprise on that sweet face, how his lips would part just so and his eyes light up. Maybe Farkas could get a real smile out of him, maybe make Edric happy for just a little while. Kodlak wanted them to be friends, and Farkas was more than willing. He wasn't really supposed to be anything more than that, so it would have to do.

* * *

_**A/N: While Hircine's Ring really only seems to give you the power to transform multiple times a day, I've decided to give it a bit more **_**umph**_** than that. The cursed version supposedly makes you transform at random (something I haven't personally experienced), so I choose to assume in this story that the cleansed ring does the opposite and lets werewolves have complete control over their transformations.**_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Julie5, thank you again for another kind review. I would PM you but it isn't allowing me. This entire tale will be told entirely from Farkas' and Vilkas' viewpoints, as I wanted to try something different since I'm used to writing in third-person omniscient. Many fanfics involving the Dragonborn are told from his/her point of view so I wanted to avoid that altogether here. I also wanted to really delve into the inner workings of the Circle and what life is like for the Companions, without getting distracted by outside quests. I guess I just wanted to keep this small and focus on just the twins. I feel pretty awful about how hard I'm making things for Vilkas, as he is a favorite character of mine. Everything will work out in the end, I promise!**

**Thank you also to everyone who has Followed or Favorited this story. This was just a fun little exercise for me so I'm glad people are enjoying it.**

**This is sort of a short filler chapter.**

* * *

**Vilkas – 24th Heartfire, 4E205**

Balancing a lap tray on one arm, Vilkas knocked on the Harbinger's door in warning then opened it, and he nearly dropped the whole damn thing when he saw Edric sitting on the edge of Kodlak's bed. He was wearing the steel armor he'd had on when he left but looked cleaner than he should for the length of time he had been gone. The young man had a tattered leatherbound journal in his hands and seemed to be reading to the Harbinger. Edric snapped the small book shut and glanced up at Vilkas before looking away, acting as if he had been caught at something.

Vilkas fought to not sneer as he said in a tight voice, "So you are back. I had no idea." Edric had been gone for twelve days, much longer than the job should have required. Vilkas had been upstairs getting Kodlak's dinner and should have been able to see him come in.

"I had business not far from Shor's Stone," Edric stated.

"What kind of business?"

"My business."

Vilkas grumbled angrily and Edric sighed and moved to leave, but Kodlak grabbed his wrist and kept him there. The old man said, "No. I am not done talking to you." A smug expression crossed Vilkas' face, and Kodlak said to him, "Edric was telling me about some of his adventures. Solstheim, specifically."

"I see," Vilkas muttered. He stood there helplessly with the tray, feeling like an ass for being pleased for that brief moment by the notion that Edric was getting dressed down for being gone for so long. Things had been calm again the last nearly two weeks, and in hindsight Vilkas could see how he had overreacted to nearly everything the day Edric had arrived. The ring had made the blood easier to bear, without the constant anxiety of fearing an involuntary change weighing on him. Edric and Kodlak looked at each other for a long moment, something unspoken seeming to pass between them, and their expressions were so similar it was unsettling. As if they were thinking the same thing without having to say a word. Edric then dropped his eyes and helped the Harbinger sit up in bed. While he did so Vilkas couldn't help asking, "Does your business take away from the Companions' business?"

"Not at all," Edric assured him.

"Hmph. Fine." Edric stared at him, his tongue in his cheek and mouth open as if he was on the verge of a smart-assed retort, then the young man moved out of his way so Vilkas could set the tray on Kodlak's lap. Vilkas fought not to growl at the smell of alcohol emanating from Edric but was unable to help wrinkling his nose at it and turning his head away. He didn't know how Kodlak could tolerate it in close quarters.

"Is Farkas okay now?"

The quiet question soothed his irritation as he answered, "Yes, Danica said he was fit for duty several days ago. He is currently on a job in Haafingar with Athis. He should be back in a few days."

"So…is there any work to be done?"

Vilkas frowned at him. "You just returned."

"I like to stay busy."

Kodlak poked at his food and said, "Surely you can stay until Farkas returns. He would be disappointed if you were gone again when he got back."

Vilkas frowned as Kodlak and Edric looked sideways at each other, and finally Edric's jaw tensed as he nodded. Kodlak let out a barely noticeable breath of relief and began to eat. Vilkas stayed where he was, wary of breaking the silence that while somewhat awkward was peaceful. And Kodlak was eating. Actually eating, and seeming pleased. Vilkas knew it was because of Edric, because the guy had given in to the Harbinger. The knowledge that Kodlak knew everything about Edric while the rest of them knew so little was absolutely maddening. Reassuring, in a way, that they didn't have a complete and possibly dangerous unknown in their midst, but aggravating. Vilkas didn't appreciate mysteries except in books.

He licked his lips and glanced at Edric, and the other man was staring at him. Studying him. Edric blinked slowly and Vilkas found himself bemusedly noticing that his eyes were very green, the deep green of Falkreath pines, with tiny flecks of lighter green, like spring grass right after it had sprouted on the plains. His eyelashes were ridiculously long for a man's, thick, so long that they brushed just below his eyebrows when he looked up through them. Edric blinked again and Vilkas' lip twitched as a surge of anger went through him, and he muttered, "What are you staring at, whelp?"

Edric shrugged one shoulder. "A man who's handsome when he isn't grouchy. And dirty."

Furious, Vilkas hissed, "I told you the first day here to stop that!"

"I'm not flirting with you, wolf, just stating my opinion. You asked; I answered."

Vilkas growled at him, baring his teeth, and Edric gazed up at him calmly, unimpressed. He asked Kodlak in a tense voice, "Do you need anything else, Master?"

"No, thank you, Vilkas," Kodlak answered, "and as I've told you before, your only master is yourself."

"A poor one," he spat, turning on his heel and leaving the room, slamming the door behind him before he could stop himself. _Do you have to keep slamming things?_ His twin's voice came back to him, exasperated. He stood there collecting himself then heard Edric question the Harbinger, once the old man stopped coughing.

"You're sure I'm welcome here?"

Kodlak answered, "Yes Edric, I am. Now be a good lad and tell me more tales of Solstheim." He paused then added with disapproval, "As soon as the walls don't have ears."

Vilkas grumbled and walked away. It was easy to forget that Kodlak still had his wolfish senses, even as sick as he was. He strode down the hall, wishing he had simply sent the whelp out on another job, both to get him out of Jorrvaskr and to make sure Edric was gone when Farkas returned. It was a selfish wish, and he knew it. He wasn't that far gone. Companions were never sent right back out like that, even ones who seemed to think they—

"Bah." He stopped in the stairwell going up to the mead hall, laying his forehead against the cool stone. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Sometimes lately that worked. He would take whatever he could get, especially now that Edric was here. And Farkas was not.

Farkas had taken a job as soon as he was cleared by Danica, and Vilkas knew damn well that his twin had done it to avoid him. Avoid the issue of Narri. Of their plans. Of their future. Vilkas knew that the big oaf's face would light up the second he saw Edric, while it had grown tense and unhappy when Vilkas had mentioned Narri nearly two weeks ago. Farkas had never been even slightly reluctant to spend his free time with Vilkas until the whelp had shown up. Until Farkas had sniffed the man and his bedroll and rubbed his cheeks on it. It was beyond Vilkas how the newblood could smell good when all Vilkas smelled on him was the reek of booze.

He huffed in hurt irritation and headed upstairs then out onto the porch, where Aela was standing with Njada in front of one of the archery targets, looking to be in the midst of a somewhat intense discussion.

"But I've heard the rumors," Njada protested. "About you and Skjor."

Aela flicked the other woman's earlobe, making her yelp and cover it. "And if you want to keep having ears, you'll pretend you didn't, whelp," she said in annoyance.

"What's the problem? Is it not allowed?"

"It isn't exactly forbidden. You put men and women in close quarters and things…happen, and the blood of warriors runs hot. But even so, it's not true. So that's that."

"Huh. If you say so."

Aela rolled her eyes. "Pull your arrows and get back to it." She sighted her shield-brother, Vilkas having taken a seat at the table on the porch. She took a seat across from him, and he raised an eyebrow at her while he served himself the last piece of apple pie.

"The newblood is back," he stated, trying not to mutter it.

"Is that so? Took him long enough. Was there a problem?"

He was only partly successful at suppressing a sneer as he replied, "He said he had his own business to take care of while he was in the area."

"Huh. One can hope that he took care of our business first." Vilkas grunted, shoving a piece of pie in his mouth as he stared past her. "Where is he now?"

"Talking to the old man, in private."

"Again?" Vilkas shrugged. "That's between them I suppose, but Kodlak seems especially invested in Edric."

His eyes widened in mock surprise. "You think?" Aela pitched across the table and cuffed him, and he made a sound of offense and shoved her hand away. "He was supposed to check in with you when he returned. You gave him the job."

"Yes, well I neglected to tell him that fact. He left too quickly."

Vilkas nodded curtly, giving Edric a pass on that. "He asked me if there was more work, and he had just returned."

Aela shook her head and picked up a bottle of mead, popping the cork out. "As if he's trying to avoid hanging around here for any length of time."

"Exactly."

"I don't blame him. Ysgramor himself wouldn't have the patience to deal with this rabble. If he's used to being on his own this place probably gets on his nerves. I know it does mine." She put her chin in her hand. "He's skittish. He doesn't want to be here, I can tell."

"Then why is he?" Vilkas asked in surprised annoyance.

"Farkas said that Edric told him that he had promised someone he would do it. He also said that the old man told him Edric had lost his lover in the war. Maybe that was who he had promised, who knows."

"Huh. I…did not know that." It made him feel another surge of hurt and aggravation that his twin had said nothing to him about it. He supposed he hadn't exactly made Edric a comfortable topic of conversation, but it still was upsetting that once again Farkas was hiding things from him. Like a child.

Aela shrugged. "Nearly everyone who fought lost someone. At least he followed his convictions and got in there and fought. Shame though, losing his man like that. I can see something broken in his eyes."

Feeling like an ass, Vilkas murmured, "The day he came to Kodlak, he said he no longer had a fire in his heart." _Losing his man like that…_ Just like the Dragonborn. It sent chills up Vilkas' spine. There were so many parallels there it was eerie.

"Is that so. And what did the old man say?"

He hesitated in answering, feeling another twinge of guilt. "That perhaps here was where he would find it again."

"Ah, that sounds like the old wolf." She took a drink of mead, turning sideways as she heard the creak of a bowstring being drawn back. Njada's arrow sailed through the air and landed in the second ring in, and Aela muttered, "Hopeless." She shook her head and turned back to Vilkas. "You'd better hope you don't run into another dragon with her or you're in deep trouble."

"As long as the Dragonborn stays in High Hrothgar we'll be fine." The dragons stayed where they were, sleeping. Waiting, it seemed. They were spotted only from a distance, no one foolish or stupid enough to go anywhere near them. Vilkas was confident though that a couple members of the Circle could take one down together. He had played the incident six months ago in his head over and over again, analyzing the fight, seeing where he had made wrong moves. If he faced a dragon again he would do much better. He had kept a scale from that dragon near Rorikstead, after selling the rest of the scales and bones and putting half the proceeds into the Companions' common fund. He had tucked the scale deep into the chest at the end of his bed, after showing it to the other Companions. It was one of his most treasured possessions. How many others in the world could say that they had fought a dragon with the Dragonborn? Lydia and Argis no doubt had, before their untimely ends.

"And Kodlak still has never said a word to you about the man? About what went on between them a year ago?"

"Not a word. Only what he told the Circle about the Dragonborn's experience in Sovngarde."

"Huh. Well, his counsel is his own, I suppose. Skjor at least knows." She sighed and shook her head. "The rift between them still concerns me. I still feel the old man is wrong, much as I love him, but I would never let that come between us."

Vilkas said with quiet grief, "It won't be a problem much longer, will it?"

Aela nodded sadly. "Skjor will regret not making things right with him one day. Not much is worth breaking a bond of brotherhood. Not that theirs is broken by any means, but it is definitely strained."

"Aye." Vilkas left it at that, feeling a swell of resentment over his own brother. No, there wasn't much worth that, certainly not a childish infatuation with a pretty stranger, and a potential shield-brother at that. Vilkas had finally found them a suitable wife, with a cure for their lycanthropy finally near, and Farkas went and developed a crush on another man of all things, after hiding his affairs for the last decade or more. It wasn't as if Vilkas couldn't see how attractive Edric was—anyone with eyes could do so—however a man was not suitable marriage material if one wanted children, and Farkas had always been adamant that he did. That was something that had never wavered. A same-gender couple could always adopt, but the child wouldn't really be their own.

No, Vilkas would not tolerate Farkas fawning on the newblood. It was inappropriate as a member of the Circle, and what was worse, it was pathetic, and worse still, a betrayal of their brotherly bond. Farkas simply didn't have the brains to work all this out on his own, so as always it was up to Vilkas to do it for the both of them. They were twins and that was just how it was. They had sworn that they would live their lives side by side, and Vilkas sure as hell wasn't going to share a man with Farkas. No goddamn way. That had never been even a possibility. Vilkas wanted children, ones of his own blood. Vilkas wanted a wife. He wanted Narri, and he was in no condition to win her over in this state. It had always been obvious that she preferred Farkas, so it was up to Farkas to woo her, and while a cure was finally within their grasp, every month that went by increased the odds that some other man would win Narri's affections. Maybe that blond lumberjack Bolund who was always sniffing around her.

"Are you listening to me?" Aela asked in exasperation. Vilkas started and looked at her. "You're as bad as your brother."

"No I am not. What did you say?"

Aela waved him off as she got up. "Never mind."

Vilkas took another bite of pie and ignored her, falling back into his brooding. The Huntress returned to Njada, berating her for her poor aim, but he barely heard it, too obsessed with how he was going to keep his brother away from the newblood. It was possible that the infatuation would fade with time, but it was equally possible it wouldn't. There was also the very real chance that someday Edric would join the Circle and take the blood, and that would only open the floodgates to a world of new problems. There was a very good reason why the Jorrvaskr pack usually only had one female, and Edric would almost be like another female. He wouldn't go into season, but his obvious orientation and the change in his scent would be a lure to any males who went that way even a bit.

He felt a thrill of fear as he slowly chewed his pie.


	9. Chapter 9

**Farkas – 28th of Heartfire, 4E205**

The big man patted Athis on the back as they went through Jorrvaskr's doors. "I'll let Kodlak know how you did," Farkas stated. "He'll be pleased."

"Thank you, brother," Athis said with a nod. "I appreciate that."

The elf headed directly for the fire to warm his always-cold hands and Farkas headed for the stairs, glancing around the mead hall as he went to make sure he didn't miss his brother or Edric. He could vaguely hear the ring of weapons out in the yard and assumed Vilkas was out there, and probably wouldn't want to be disturbed. That's what he told himself, anyway. He wasn't in any hurry to face his brother after the way he had left here. It made him feel like a coward, both the way he had left and his reluctance to talk to Vilkas. Farkas really didn't want to have that talk. _The_ talk.

He found Edric sitting at one of the tables in the downstairs hall talking to Ria, who was staring at him with wide eyes, her chin in her hand, giving him her undivided attention as she did everything. Edric's back was to Farkas, his braid swaying as he took a drink to wet his throat. Farkas watched him, feeling relief and warmth go through him. It was good to see Edric here, and even better to see him talking to a shield-sibling. It meant he was getting comfortable here, or at least Farkas hoped so. It meant he would stay.

"They're absolutely hideous," Edric continued. "Glowing red eyes, and their mouths are always open. They make this creepy grunting sound that makes the hair stand up on your skin. Sometimes they carry glowing red weapons, as if those came from the ash as well. Some cast fire magic. I hated the things."

"But…where do they come from?" Ria asked in a whisper, looking spooked.

"The theory is that when Red Mountain blew, some of the ejaculate—" Ria giggled then covered her mouth, and Edric burst into laughter then he shook his head and gently ruffled her hair. "Dirty minded wench. Anyway, the theory is that the rock that had been exposed to the heart of Shor all these ages took on some of its power, and when the mountain erupted it blew that rock onto Solstheim. The Dunmer cremate their dead, but if you've ever seen cremated remains there are pieces of bone left. The affected rocks are called heart stones, and it's believed that those stones reanimated the remains. Others believe that the heart stones are actually reanimating the remains of those who died in the eruption and were buried by the ashfall. Who knows?"

"Ugh!"

"Yeah, it's pretty awful. The southern part of the island is covered in ash, but the rest of the island is just like Skyrim. Well, northern Skyrim. Cold. Big glaciers like the ones you see up near Winterhold. Same tombs and dragon temples and all that, infested with draugr." He took a sip of mead then continued, "Still, I kind of liked it there. I get along just fine with dark elves. As long as they aren't Telvanni wizards."

"Wow," Ria breathed. "Is it true the Telvanni live in mushroom houses?"

"Sure is. The big one the wizard lives in doesn't have stairs. You step into this stream of light and _zip!_ Sucks you right up to the next floor." Ria shuddered. "Yeah, you really have to watch your step going back down, or…" Ria looked past him, and he turned and saw Farkas standing there.

Farkas sighed silently as a big smile spread over Edric's face, the first full smile he had seen out of him. It was stunning, his teeth even but his canines somewhat pointed. Farkas found himself grinning back, probably looking like an idiot, but he didn't care. Edric was even more beautiful than he remembered. He wasn't wearing armor either, instead wearing a linen tunic of rust red and brown wool pants. It was odd seeing him out of armor, but a good kind of odd. He was…beautiful. Just beautiful, and that was all there was to it.

"Hey big guy," Edric said in greeting. "I was telling Ria about some of the things I saw on Solstheim."

"I heard," Farkas answered, moving closer. "How long have you been back?"

"Four days. Kodlak thought, well I thought…I should stick around for a while. Get to know everyone. Tell some stories of where I've been. The things I've seen."

"Oh. Did I miss much?" The question came out just as sappy as he feared it would, but Edric didn't seem to notice, shaking his head.

"Nah. I've tried not to be pushy about it. My stories seem to piss off Torvar and irritate Vilkas."

Farkas frowned, unhappy about that. "Why?"

Edric bit his lip, and Ria looked up at Farkas then got up from her seat and leaned close to him, whispering, "I think they're both jealous."

"Well…yeah, I get that," Farkas said slowly, "but wouldn't they still want to hear about it? Especially Vilkas?"

"He seems to, but every time Edric starts telling us something Torvar starts in with the faces."

"What kind of faces?" Farkas asked, his voice low and aggravated.

"Like he's mocking him. Like he doesn't believe Edric did everything he says." Edric rolled his eyes as he took a drink; it was obvious he didn't care what anyone believed, or didn't believe. "Vilkas just gets… agitated," she whispered, a touch of fear in her voice. "You know he's always going on about how he's killed one of everything in Skyrim, but Edric has done that and killed one of everything in Solstheim too."

Edric pointed the bottle at her and stated gravely, "I have _never_ killed a bunny. Or a chicken. A man has to have his limits." Ria couldn't help laughing at that. Farkas wasn't amused though, looking deeply worried.

"Tell me you didn't say that to Vilkas," Farkas pleaded. He could just imagine how that would go over.

"No, of course not," he soothed. "I know better, believe me." He stood and stretched then drank down the rest of the bottle and set it aside. Farkas stared at him with a worried expression, and Edric slapped him on the arm. "I promise I've been careful of your brother. Without making it _obvious_ that I am," he added, and Farkas let out a breath of relief.

"Okay. That's good." He lowered his voice and asked them, "How's the old man doing?"

"The same," Ria said sadly, "though he's been eating better lately." She touched Edric's forearm and asked in a hopeful tone, "Are we still on for tomorrow morning?"

"Absolutely," the young man promised. The girl beamed at him then headed off to the common quarters. Seeing Farkas' confusion, Edric explained, "I was going to show her some sword and shield techniques that I think would work well for her." He sighed. "And with any luck your brother won't have a problem with it." Farkas grimaced, and Edric pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes for a moment, then he let his hand fall. "I don't get this place," he said with quiet intensity. "Am I supposed to be helping or not? Am I just supposed to take orders?"

"No no no," Farkas said quickly, shaking his head. "It's not that. It's just…" He made a sound of frustration and motioned for Edric to follow him, and the younger man shrugged and did so. He went to his quarters and opened the door, hearing a laugh behind him.

"A bar? In your room?" Edric said in surprise.

"It was here before it was my room." He looked around and felt his face grow warm at the chaos there…dirty clothes were strewn about, empty mead and ale bottles had been rolled under his bed, dirty plates were stacked by the door, and he had never cleaned up the wood shavings from his carving. The mess in here had never bothered him before, but he was keenly aware of it now. "This uh, was Arnbjorn's room. He got kicked out a while back. Vilkas and I shared Dad's room before that. Our father Jergen's old room." He made a face and mumbled, "Sorry about the mess."

Edric shrugged. "It's your room. Doesn't bother me." He glanced at the single bed and added with a single raised eyebrow, "Do you actually fit on that?"

"Barely," Farkas replied with a laugh. He set his pack down and watched Edric take a seat on one of the stools at the bar, eyeing the unopened bottle of ale there. Farkas said with worry, "You really shouldn't drink so much. It isn't good for you."

"I know," he murmured, pulling the bottle over to twirl it between his hands.

Farkas hesitated then closed the door. The last thing he wanted was to have his twin come along and stand there giving them both dirty looks. "It's just…I don't think it helps."

"No kidding."

The cool tone to Edric's voice warned him that the topic was no longer open for discussion, and he mumbled, "I'm sorry. I…just worry. I won't say anything more." The last thing he wanted to do was make the guy dislike or avoid him.

Edric sighed and pushed the bottle away then leaned his arm on the bar and looked at Farkas, who stared at him with a guarded expression then pulled off his baldric and scabbard and set it aside. "It's sweet that you worry," Edric finally stated. "You're right, it doesn't help. But I've been doing it for so long that…" He sighed and leaned on his elbow. "I think about quitting sometimes," he said softly. "I even tried a few years ago, for…someone's sake. I started getting the shakes and feeling sick. I couldn't go through with it. I worry that my body's so used to it now that it'll go into shock if I quit." Farkas looked horrified at that. Edric's cheeks turned pink and he avoided the Companion's eyes as he went on, "When I started I was still a kid and could still get drunk. I'm not sure how much it would take at this point to get there."

"God Edric," Farkas sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't ask. It isn't my business." No matter how he wanted it to be. There was something so sad and closed off about Edric that it broke Farkas' heart. Edric was sharing, but he was reserved about it, like he had nothing left in him, no real anger or joy or anything. It made Farkas' hands itch to hold him, and he didn't dare. He wasn't sure what he would do if he touched Edric again, but by Mara how he wanted to. It was all he'd thought about for the last two weeks. Someone needed to take care of Edric, because Edric sure as hell wasn't taking care of himself.

"No, it's okay," he said tiredly. "Like I said, it's sweet that you care. You're a good person, Farkas. I mean that." Farkas smiled at him, and he returned it slightly. "So where did you just get back from? Somewhere in Haafingar?"

"Yeah, Fort Hraggstad. Bandits. Pretty easy. I let Athis take the lead and he did a good job. I need to report to the old man in a little bit, once I get cleaned up." Edric nodded. Farkas pulled off his gauntlets and tossed them on the bed then knelt down to dig through his pack. "I uh, I've been working on something," he said in a halting tone, feeling his face flush. "I started it the day after I got back here. After you saved my life and took care of me. I've been working on it this whole time, but it's done now. Well, as done as it's going to get."

He found it, wrapped in a dirty tunic, and hoped none of the smell stuck to it. He stood up with it, his hands cupped around it, and he felt sick to his stomach with nerves. He'd put his heart and soul into this, and he suddenly wasn't sure how Edric would receive it. Edric was nice, and Farkas was sure he would be polite about it at least. Well, he hadn't done it to get kudos. He had made it as a gift with no strings attached and that was that.

"You okay?" Edric asked with a frown. Farkas didn't answer right away, probably looking as ill as he felt, and Edric prompted, "You went to one of the shrines when you got back, right?"

"Yeah, uh, we always do, well, the whelps do, the Circle doesn't need to, I…fuck." Edric's eyebrows rose and Farkas cursed himself for being an idiot and walked over to Edric and held the carving out to him as he blurted, "Here. I made this for you. Thanks for saving me."

Edric stared at him in surprise then his eyes lowered to the carving in Farkas' hands. He hesitantly reached out and picked it up, then he sucked in a breath and held it. It was a stylized hawk perched on a tree stump, carved from light-colored linden wood, with the suggestion of folded wings and tail feathers, but it had been detailed with dark lines that had been burned into the wood. It was all of one solid piece, about six inches high.

Edric turned the hawk slowly in his hands, his eyes wide. "You _made_ this?" he whispered, not taking his eyes off it. Farkas made a sound of assent, barely more than a grunt. "For…me?"

"Um…yeah," he said nervously. "You uh, worship Kynareth. Kyne. It seemed…right. It just came to me, that I should…make it. For you." Edric swallowed hard then licked his lips and took a deep breath, and to Farkas' dismay the younger man's eyes began to glisten as his breathing grew uneven.

"I've never…" Edric drew in a shuddering breath then swallowed again. "No one's ever. Made me anything," he whispered. "This…it's _beautiful,_ Farkas."

The breathy words sent a shiver over Farkas' skin, and when Edric looked up at him with big, shining eyes and parted lips it was all Farkas could do not to close the distance between them. Edric smiled at him with such a look of vulnerability that it made his heart twist in his chest. Before he could stop the words he said, "People should make you beautiful things." He mentally punched himself for it, but Edric's smile broadened then he looked down at the bird again as it faded.

"I've had plenty of people _buy_ me things," he said quietly, "or give me things. Because of my looks." He snorted a bitter laugh. "My first commander in the Legion offered me a promotion if I would sleep with him." He shrugged one shoulder, his voice growing distant again. "I slept with him, but I refused the promotion. That was fine by him. He got what he wanted either way."

"He shouldn't have done that," Farkas growled.

"Well yeah, it was definitely unethical. He could have lost his command for it and I would've gotten a dishonorable discharge. I was young and stupid, only seventeen, but I never did it again." His lips pursed for a moment as he set the hawk on the counter but kept his hands around it. "It would've been easy to get through life that way. I'd never want for anything. Except respect. Beauty doesn't get you respect. Beauty doesn't earn you honor." He looked up and Farkas was gazing at him with a frown. "I guess you and Vilkas don't need to worry much about that. Big, manly guys like you get respected by default. Me, I looked like a girl until I hit my mid twenties. I always had to prove myself, more than a woman would. You wouldn't believe all the fights I've had to get into over the years."

"That isn't fair."

"No, but it's reality. I think it's part of Torvar's problem with me. I tend to attract guys who think they're real butch and would never consider touching another guy otherwise. Maybe it's your brother's problem too. I'm too pretty for my own good, for their comfort, and it makes them mad."

Farkas huffed unhappily and turned away, unbuckling his armor. He hated hearing all this. It was easy to imagine Edric being propositioned everywhere he went. Getting harassed. Being stared at. Being insulted by men who felt they had something to prove. Men like Torvar. Or Vilkas. "You aren't pretty," Farkas muttered, though that wasn't really the truth. Edric laughed, and it sounded tired. Farkas pulled off his pauldrons and threw them on the bed. "You're not," he insisted.

"What am I then?"

Farkas glanced at him and saw him leaning on the bar on one elbow, smirking again, the other hand playing with the tip of his braid, and even with the scars on his face he was still so lovely he made Farkas' chest ache. No one had ever made him feel even a fraction of what he felt for Edric. He'd felt plenty of lust in his life, but the way Edric made him feel after knowing him for less than one full day…it was wonderful and painful all at once. It was…it was exactly what he remembered falling in love felt like. Maybe that was exactly what it was: he loved Edric. He didn't know him, but he didn't have to to love him.

Edric's eyes dropped as he tossed the braid back, his expression hardening. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I shouldn't do that to you." He slid off the stool, picking up the hawk and holding it to his chest. "I'll always treasure this, Farkas. Can I show Kodlak?" He saw Farkas nod out of the corner of his eye, and he smiled briefly then left, closing the door gently behind him.

Farkas whined unhappily the moment the latch clicked, sounding like a lost puppy and not caring who heard it. He stood there for several minutes, confused and miserable and lonely, feeling stupid for running Edric off. Because that was exactly what he had done, by letting him see what Farkas should have kept to himself. It was inappropriate to have feelings for a shield-brother, but how could he help it? He had no idea how to make it stop, no idea at all.

He took off his cuirass and nearly threw it on the bed as well but caught himself in time. Eorlund wouldn't be happy about repairing damage that came from poor care as opposed to battle, and the old master smith would know the difference. Farkas laid the armor out neatly then grabbed clean clothes to go bathe, then he stopped himself, looking at his mess of a room. It really was horrible, so messy it was hard to walk a straight line across the floor. And it smelled a little. Just as Vilkas frequently told him, but he had always brushed it off as his brother being a fusspot. Edric probably had been honest that he didn't care, but it was the idea.

He set the clean clothes aside and began gathering up the empty bottles, taking them out into the hall and carefully setting them in the area where Tilma put them into the crates they had come in, to set back outside the mead hall's front doors for Honningbrew Meadery workers to collect every Morndas, to wash and reuse. He then took the stacks of dirty dishes to the kitchen, where Tilma clucked her tongue at him but smiled in approval as he put them in the washing tub for her. He then collected his dirty clothes into the basket they were supposed to go in and set it outside his bedroom door. With everything off the floor it was easy to see how disgusting it was, sticky with spilled mead and bits of old food. He grumbled and went back to Tilma for a broom, and she patted his cheek and told him to go bathe and she would take care of it. He kissed her forehead, relieved to get out of it, and did exactly that.

Farkas washed quickly, not bothering to linger in the tub no matter how he would have liked to. When he returned to his room to dump the dirty clothes that went under his armor into the basket, he saw that Tilma had already swept out his room and washed the stone floor. He shook his head in amazement and stayed out of his room to let the floor dry, feeling some measure of satisfaction seep into him. At least he had accomplished something that was well overdue, and if he ever was able to get Edric in there again he wanted him to notice the difference.

Deciding to finally check in with Kodlak, Farkas walked to the Harbinger's quarters. The outer sitting room was empty, but the bedroom door was open. Hearing Kodlak's labored, raspy breathing, Farkas peeked in and to his mixed relief and disappointment Edric wasn't there. The Harbinger was propped up in bed, writing in his journal on a lap tray, his hand still steady, pausing every so often to clear his throat or cough. He noticed Farkas and waved him in. "I hope I'm not disturbing you, Harbinger," he stated.

"No son, not at all," Kodlak replied, not taking his eyes off his writing. "Just one moment." He finished his thought then set the quill aside and held the journal out to Farkas. "Could you blow on the ink?"

"Sure." He supposed he was the safest person to do that, since the writing wouldn't make much sense to him anyway. He could make out a word every so often, but it was something like 'the' or 'him' which had no meaning at all. He blew the ink dry as Kodlak coughed, and the amount of blood on the old mans lips was frightening. Kodlak dabbed it away with his kerchief then leaned back, gasping for air. "Should I call Danica?" Farkas asked with worry. Kodlak shook his head, his shaggy white mane swaying, still thick and full. Once the ink was dry Farkas handed the journal back, and the old man folded it shut.

"The job went well?" he whispered.

"Aye. Athis carried himself with honor. I hung back and let him lead the mission. He probably could've done the whole thing himself and been fine. He's come a long way." The Dunmer warrior was quick, light on his feet, in and out before the enemy knew what hit them. He never complained about the conditions on a job, though everyone knew he and Ria felt the cold keenly. Athis had come to Skyrim as a young elf who had practically crawled out of the wastes of Vvardenfell with his family; they had settled in the slums of Windhelm and he had left as quickly as he could and had never looked back, though Farkas knew he sent his family money several times a year. He had determined after being despised and spat upon by Nords that he was going to join that most Nordic of institutions, the Companions, and prove that he was every bit as good if not better than those who oppressed his people. And he was, but not just because he was a Companion. Athis made a good, solid shield-brother though, and Farkas was always glad to have him at his back.

"Good, good." He motioned for Farkas to move the tray, and Farkas carried it out to the sitting room then came back. Kodlak patted the bed and the big man took a seat, careful not to jostle him. "Edric showed me the gift you made him."

"Yeah?" He fidgeted under Kodlak's measuring gaze. At times like this it was tempting to believe Kodlak really could read people's minds. It had sure seemed that way when Farkas and Vilkas were teenagers. They'd hardly ever gotten away with anything.

The Harbinger finally said, "He was extremely moved by it. You did a good thing. A very good thing." Farkas nodded, his cheeks warm. "Is something troubling you?" Farkas made a face of anxiety, and the old man sighed and leaned back against the pillows, pointing at the door. "You haven't been honest with me, son," he chided as Farkas closed it. "Or your brother."

"I can't," Farkas muttered as he put his back to the door. "Not with Vilkas."

Kodlak grumbled and warned, "You will end up letting your brother push you too far. If you don't stand up to him now he will keep pushing you until there won't be any mending things between you. He will drive you to the point of hating him."

Horrified, Farkas exclaimed, "I could never hate my brother!"

"Yes, you could. The way Vilkas is going…you very well could one day." He shook his head and said in a regretful tone, "For as much time as he spends thinking, Vilkas doesn't spend enough of it _feeling._ He doesn't let himself. His emotions were too close to the surface for too long after taking the blood. It made him feel weak, vulnerable. The coldness is a defense, as is the anger. His anger makes him feel safe. He uses it to put a wall between him and others." Farkas nodded, knowing all this. "You fled Jorrvaskr last week instead of being honest with him. As long as you refuse to tell him the truth he will continue to use your refusal as leverage."

"I can't," Farkas whined. "He's so…he doesn't listen. He never listens!"

"He discounts anything that doesn't fit into his worldview, and must be forced to see the truth. Sometimes by grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and rubbing his nose in that truth." He raised an eyebrow and gently prompted, "Which is?"

Farkas swallowed, chewing nervously at his bottom lip, then he deflated and mumbled, "I think I'm in love with Edric."

Kodlak sucked in a breath, which sent him into a spasm of coughing, and once it subsided he croaked, "Damn you, boy, that…was _not_ what I expected you to say."

"I know it's wrong," Farkas said miserably, rubbing his face. "I tried not to let him see it, Edric I mean, but I think he saw it, and it made him uncomfortable and he left. When I gave him the bird. No, not the bird, the hawk. I mean I gave him the hawk." He made a sound of frustration and let his hands fall.

"How is following the call of your heart wrong?"

"Because he's a shield-brother."

Kodlak cleared his throat then sighed, "Well, yes, he is, but such things have always gone on in this hall. You can't have people living in close quarters like this and not have it occasionally happen. There have been Companions who have married each other. Even members of the Circle. I don't think there is anything that _hasn't_ happened under Jorrvaskr's roof over the long course of our history. No, it is not ideal, but life rarely is."

Afraid to feel even a spark of hope, Farkas asked, "Well what do I do? Vilkas wants me to go to Falkreath and see Narri again, and I don't want to go."

"Then don't." Farkas made a grumbling sound of dread, and Kodlak firmly said, "Enough of this. You've been leading a double life and it is long past time for it to end. Your brother knows the truth but he will do everything in his power to avoid acknowledging it and to keep you from following your own path." His tone turned sour as he went on, "Half the time I think he considers you nothing more than an extension of himself. I've kept my own thoughts on the matter private since frankly no one asked me, and until now you seemed content with how things were. That is no longer the case. You asked me what to do. I'm telling you to be honest with your brother. Leave Edric out of it if you must, in fact that would be for the best, however you must tell Vilkas that you're not attracted to women and can't in good conscience marry one." He motioned towards Farkas and said, "Think on that, why don't you, the fate of whatever poor girl Vilkas pressures you into marrying. Is that fair to her? The sole purpose of marriage is love. Mara would frown upon a marriage entered into dishonestly."

Farkas nodded, feeling a little better. He hadn't even considered that angle. He liked women a lot and could tell when one was pretty, but they just didn't do much for him. Having sex with them felt great, but it was just sensation, with no true desire involved. Edric though…just a look or a smile, the sway of his hair, and Farkas lost the ability to think straight. Not that he was a great thinker to begin with. He sighed and said, "I don't think it's going to end up mattering anyway. When Edric saw how I felt he ran away."

"I very much doubt that it was a rejection of you personally, son. Do you know what's coming up next month?"

"The harvest?"

"Well, yes, that too. Edric's birthday is the 4th of Frostfall. Then comes the 13th of Frostfall. Do you remember what happened last year on that date?"

Farkas thought for a moment then answered, "The war ended."

"Yes. That was the day the Stormcloaks captured Solitude. That was the day that Edric's man died." Farkas looked stricken. "Frostfall is going to be a hard month for the lad. He'll not only be grieving the anniversary of his man's death but marking a birthday that holds no joy for him. For years he looked forward to the war ending so that he and his fellow could make a home together, raise a family, and…here he is." Farkas made a soft sound of grief, his eyes shining. Kodlak sighed heavily then coughed a bit, looking deeply saddened. "Still, he is here, and that means something. Your gift moved him, and that means something as well."

"But it made him sad. He said no one had ever made him anything before. Then he told me an awful story about his first commanding officer getting in his pants."

Kodlak frowned and muttered, "Yes, well, that is another issue he is working through. I think your gift is the first he has ever been given with no expectations attached to it, and it was made with your own two hands. Edric is…well, there is no getting around it. Gods know how, but…" He shook his head. "The lad is beautiful, and that is the hard truth of it, and no easy thing for a man to bear. He's used to people trying to give him things, other men, older men, and they always do it because they want him. They do it trying to win his favors. You…you spent two weeks handcrafting something for him as thanks, with no thought for yourself, wanting nothing from him in return, and that hit him hard. When he saw your heart in your eyes, it no doubt frightened him. He misses his man intensely, and he's lonely, but he doesn't want to move on. He doesn't want to let go. Some part of him thinks that by getting on with his life he's betraying the memory of the one he lost."

Farkas bit at his lips, sad and worried. He tried to see the good in all this, that Edric was here at all, and that it meant that he hadn't given up on life. Maybe it was even a good thing that Edric had run away from Farkas' feelings. That meant that they had reached him somehow. Made him feel things he hadn't felt in a long time, maybe. Maybe.

He returned to the Harbinger's bed and sat down on the edge of it, asking, "What should I do? About Edric?"

"Be patient with him. Be there without being intrusive. Listen if he feels like talking. You've always been a good listener, Farkas."

"So…it's okay then? To court him?" he asked hesitantly. He had to be sure. If he was going to do this then he had to know that he had the Harbinger's approval. He didn't want to get halfway in and find out Kodlak was angry about it. It didn't sound like he was, but sometimes Farkas didn't understand what he thought he understood. He wanted to know ahead of time that it was okay to woo Edric, because his heart already ached when he thought of the other man, and he knew he would end up loving him more than this, and losing Edric at that point would hurt too much.

Kodlak sighed with a faint smile and squeezed Farkas' knee. "You have my blessing, son," he stated, and Farkas let out the breath he was holding in an exhalation of giddy relief, a broad smile spreading across his face. As Kodlak's hand fell away he went on, "When I told you two weeks ago that your kind heart could heal his broken one, this wasn't what I had envisioned, but now…perhaps this is how it was meant to go."

"Okay," Farkas murmured. "I…I don't know what to do, though."

"Let whatever instinct drove you to carve the bird guide you."

"Okay," he repeated. He hesitated then asked, "Have you ever wooed someone?" If Kodlak had, it had been longer ago than Farkas could remember. He couldn't recall ever seeing Kodlak with a woman, and it wasn't because the women weren't interested. Kodlak was a striking man, even in his old age, and women had always given him the eye, but from what Farkas could tell Kodlak had never seemed to notice.

"Wooed," Kodlak whispered in a bemused tone, then he went quiet for a moment as if considering whether to answer. He finally huffed a laugh. "Yes, once, in a way. Long ago, far from here. I never intended to, but…one thing led to another, and before I knew it...I was willing to throw aside everything I held dear to be with her."

Amazed by the confession, Farkas whispered, "What happened?" Kodlak had never even hinted at anything like this in all the years Farkas and Vilkas had known him. It was shocking.

"Her parents disapproved from the start. I was much older than her, you see. A few years younger than you and Vilkas are now, but she was still in her teens, barely past the age of consent, so I was old enough to be her father. I ordinarily never would have given a girl her age more than a passing glance, but…" He sighed sadly at the distant memory. "She was in training to be a priestess. An acolyte. I had taken a bad wound on a job and had run out of potions to deal with it, so I headed to the closest town, on death's door. She was the only one free to deal with the matter, with the Great War still going on, and…I grew to love her. It was impossible not to." He sniffed a short laugh of remembrance. "She was a true beauty, that girl. Half-Breton on her father's side and as delicate and fresh as a spring breeze, tiny, with a voice like a bird, but she was still a Nord, golden-haired with eyes like two mountain lakes and skin like snow. She tended to me as best she could while I recuperated from my injury, then one night…well, her parents found us together the next morning and all hell broke loose. We couldn't stay away from each other after that no matter how they raged against it." Kodlak's eyes grew clouded. "I came back here, to report back in, to put my affairs in order and try to arrange some sort of home for the two of us, so we could marry, but when I went back to fetch her she was gone, and her parents dead along with so many others, and…I had to assume she had died as well. Many had, at the hands of the elves. All I could do was return here and lick my wounds and move on."

"Shit," Farkas breathed, finding it impossible to do more than that past the lump in his throat. That was as heartbreaking a loss as Edric's, or the Dragonborn's. And Farkas had never had a clue. It was so bewildering to hear his Harbinger speak of a woman in those terms that he didn't know what to think.

"So you see, I know somewhat where Edric is coming from, except I never found the strength to try again after that. I'd never intended even that to happen, so I avoided it with all my might afterward. I renewed my commitment to the Companions and the Circle, took you two from Jergen, and never looked back, except in my memories. Edric though…even with all that he has done and been through, he simply doesn't have it in him to harden himself enough to live like that." He squeezed Farkas' knee and counseled, "Even if love finds you later in life, you have to grab it and hold on with all your might. The way Edric found you that night, and the drive you felt to carve that bird…I feel it has meaning."

"I hope so."

Kodlak took a deep breath then slid down further in the bed. "I'm going to rest for a while, son. But leave the door open. And…this conversation we just had. Keep it to yourself, Farkas. As a favor to me. It is something the others don't need to know. Skjor does, but the others…no. Perhaps one day after I am long gone, but not yet."

"I promise, Harbinger," he swore. "On my honor." That Kodlak had trusted him with something that only Skjor knew about meant everything to him.

"Good lad."

Farkas tucked the covers more comfortably around the old man, moving the extra pillows out of the way, then he let himself out. As he walked down the hall he mulled over Kodlak's story, so terribly sad, like something out of a book. How could none of them have known? Kodlak had always been a rather private, stoic person, though as he had gotten older he had become more emotional, or maybe more willing to let people see it. Especially since he had gotten sick. Kodlak had always traveled a lot when he was younger, before Jergen left. Jergen had left about thirty years ago, which would have been about the time Kodlak was talking about. Maybe Kodlak had stopped traveling then because of that girl, and had decided to stay here and finish raising Farkas and Vilkas for Jergen, who had desperately wanted the chance to fight the Aldmeri Dominion before the war was over. And then Jergen had never come back home.

He went to his room, seeing the basket of dirty clothes was gone and his floor was dry. He took a deep breath, pleased to find that it smelled fresh and clean in there. As he laid the rugs back down he resolved to do better from now on about keeping his room halfway decent. He wanted Edric to feel comfortable in there without worrying he was going to step in wood shavings or spilled mead. Who knew when he ever would want to be around Farkas again, but if the room was kept clean that would be one less worry.

With nothing better to do at the moment Farkas set about caring for his armor, something he was more than capable of doing himself. The others took their armor to Eorlund after every mission to check over and buff up, but Farkas preferred to do it himself unless it had taken actual damage. Vilkas was the bookish one, but Farkas liked using his hands, and he was good at it. Eorlund had told him more than once that if he hadn't had a son to follow him in his trade that he would have taken him on as an apprentice. Farkas had picked up enough blacksmithing knowledge to do all the minor repairs and basic care of his amor and weapons himself, and he enjoyed it.

It was good to know that if he had to he could one day take up a craft. Maybe he could do some more woodcarvings and sell them, just for money on the side, not that he was ever short of coin, but if he was going to court Edric he might need it. He remembered the wooden toys that Askar had brought him and Vilkas one year for their birthday, a set of warriors on horses. The twins had been enchanted by them and had played with them endlessly until they had gotten lost or broken, Farkas couldn't remember which. He thought maybe he might try making something like that one day and see if Belethor or Fralia Gray-Mane would sell it for him.

Farkas was sitting on his bed buffing the last piece of his armor with oil, the breastplate, all the other pieces laid out in front of him on the clean floor, when he heard the scuff of soft leather boots in the hallway. It was something Vilkas never wore, who preferred either boots with hardened leather soles or no shoes at all. He saw movement in his doorway and looked up to see the last person he expected to see the rest of the day. Edric glanced at him then down at the armor, a half-empty bottle in his left hand and an unopened one in the right. The young man's expression was one of poorly hidden nervousness, and when Edric glanced at him again Farkas dropped his eyes, willing his expression to go blank and sure that it wasn't working. He didn't want Edric to see the pathetic look of yearning on his face and risk running him off again. Farkas couldn't imagine why he was back though. He had left just an hour and a half ago.

"You cleaned your room."

The surprise in Edric's voice was obvious, and Farkas mumbled, "I guess I realized how bad it was. I think I had half of Jorrvaskr's plates in here."

Edric gave a short, quiet laugh at that. "You take care of your own armor? I didn't think anyone here did that." Farkas made a sound of assent, not looking up at him. "Me too. I'm so used to doing everything for myself that I don't think I could hand my armor or weapons over to anyone." Farkas nodded, still not looking up. "So you never, ah, told me what was expected of me here. When I mentioned tutoring Ria."

"Oh. Well…" He heard Edric take a deep drink then swallow, and the sound was painful to hear. If he accomplished nothing else between him and Edric, he wanted to at least get him to cut back on his drinking. Edric wasn't quite thirty and there didn't seem to be any signs of damage yet, but he wanted to avoid that ever happening. "It's just that Ria, she's kind of Vilkas' special student. He took her under his wing after she came here last year. But lately she's been scared of him."

"Yeah, she told me that," Edric murmured. "It's part of why I offered."

"If you start teaching her, if she starts going to you instead of Vilkas, it'll make things worse."

"I assumed that, yes. But is it something I'm not _supposed_ to be doing?"

Farkas shook his head, finally looking up when he heard the touch of exasperation in Edric's voice. His green eyes were intent, the muscles along his jaw tense. "No, it isn't that. It's actually expected. Of the more experienced warriors to help train the others. But it's usually the Circle that does that. Or those who are being groomed for the Circle."

"I'm not trying to get into the Circle, believe me. That's the last hassle I need right now."

Confused, Farkas blinked and frowned. "But…why?" Edric looked uncomfortable, and Farkas lowered his eyes to his armor again. "Sorry," he murmured. "Not my business." He was supposed to listen, not push.

"Shit." The soft, barely audible curse nearly made Farkas look up again, but he resisted the urge and went back to polishing his armor. He wasn't really paying attention to what he was doing, too keenly aware of Edric, of his breathing, of the faint hints of male scent mixed with alcohol. "I…did something wrong. Didn't I."

Hearing the hurt there, Farkas shook his head vigorously. "No. It was me."

"What could you have possibly done?"

His face warmed as he muttered, "I don't know." He sure as hell wasn't going to say it. He was afraid every word out of his mouth, any look that wasn't being controlled, might scare Edric off again. The sudden closing of his door startled him, and he looked up to see Edric cross the floor and throw himself into the chair in the corner. The younger man stared at him with a sullen expression, waiting, then he took a drink, his eyes never leaving Farkas. Farkas couldn't tear his gaze away, and when Edric licked his lips he could barely suppress the shudder of desire it sent through him. He couldn't imagine why Edric was back here, because he didn't think it was because he wanted to know if he could train Ria.

Edric finally looked away, taking another drink, then his eyes fell on the lute propped against the wall behind the counter and his cool expression changed to one of surprise. "Do you play the lute?" Edric asked, and Farkas could swear he heard a touch of hope in the question.

"No. Well, I do uh, play it sometimes," he admitted, "but I'm not any good at it. It was in the room when I moved in, all this stuff was, but Arnbjorn didn't play either. I don't really remember any Companions being able to play it, but Askar used to play the drum and Aela's mother, Gislun, had a little bone flute that she played along with him. Back when we were kids."

"What was it like growing up here?"

Farkas shrugged. "Hard sometimes. Good sometimes. Just like anywhere, I guess, but growing up among warriors…Vilkas and I don't know anything else. Our father, Jergen, he was a lot like Vilkas, but before a year ago when Vilkas started getting…you know. Hard, but fair. Not unkind." Edric nodded, drinking down the rest of the bottle in a series of gulps then setting it aside. "Uh…" He watched Edric pop the cork out of the second bottle and had to look away, wondering if the other man was trying to get drunk, before remembering that he said he couldn't, but then what was he trying to accomplish? Farkas haltingly went on, "Vilkas won't even admit he's our real dad, but I remember what Jergen looked like, and we look just like him. He and Vilkas fought all the time. Neither one was ever able to give in."

"Where's your mother?"

Farkas shrugged again and returned to polishing the breastplate. "Dead. Necromancers got her. Got us too, I guess, but our dad got back from his job just in time to save us. Not her though. Sometimes I think that's why Vilkas was so hard on him. Because he hated our dad for not being able to save her too, but he was just one guy, even if he was in the Circle, and it's not like we remember her. We were just babies then, pups barely weaned. Jorrvaskr is all either of us know. This is our home."

"So…Kodlak finished raising you?"

"Uh huh. After our father left, to fight in the war. Dad hated elves. He hated the idea of elves telling men what to do, especially telling people Talos isn't real and not letting anyone worship him anymore. He was really religious. Went to the shrine every morning, never took off his amulet."

"I never take off my amulet of Kynareth either. And I understand fighting for what you believe in." Edric leaned back in the chair and snorted a tired laugh, saying, "And here we are on the brink of another war with the elves." Farkas looked up in dismay. "You didn't know that?"

"No."

"That's why I never planned to join the Circle. I might have to leave here next spring. To go to war." Farkas swallowed, his heart suddenly pounding, and Edric rolled the bottle between his hands as he looked away from the naked worry there. "I promised I would come here. I never promised I would stay."

Farkas whispered, "I see." He swallowed again, trying to force down the lump in his throat that was threatening to choke him. He supposed it really had been naïve of him to feel any kind of hope. He wondered if Kodlak knew, and if the old man did then why had he given Farkas his blessing to court Edric? He heard the sound of more guzzling and swallowing, and when he looked up Edric was watching him with obvious anxiety, then it smoothed over again. Maybe that was why Edric was drinking so much right now, to deal with his nerves. But why would he be anxious if he didn't plan to stay and never had? He finally forced out, "Does the old man know?"

"He's known since day one, why?" Farkas shook his head, looking down again, his lips pursed. He slid off his bed onto his knees to start stacking his armor on the rug in an orderly fashion, to avoid looking at Edric. "Why?" Edric pressed.

His face warming, Farkas muttered, "He was talking like you were going to be around for a while, that's all."

"Six months or so. To me that is a while. It's the longest I've ever stayed in one place. What did he say to you?"

Farkas shook his head, feeling another wave of hurt. Anguish. He knew he wasn't doing a good job of keeping it off his face, either. He stood and brushed off his knees, muttering, "Do you want to go upstairs and eat or something?"

"I'm not hungry, thanks."

Farkas frowned at the sullen statement and waved his hand at the bottle. "That's why you aren't hungry." Edric's mouth fell open slightly. This entire encounter had Farkas so confused and upset that he was starting to get angry, and he hated it. He didn't want to be mad at Edric. He hadn't hunted for two weeks either, and that wasn't helping his mood. He went on before he could stop himself, "Kodlak says he knows everything about you. I hope he's right."

Offended, Edric stated, "Of course he is!"

"Then why would he…ugh." Why did he give his blessing? _Why?_

"What? Why would he what?"

Farkas glowered at him for a moment then deflated and sadly said, "He told me it was okay to do something, but now I think maybe it's a bad idea. He gave me his blessing but there's just…there's no point and it's a bad idea anyway." He huffed at the stunned expression on the younger man's face and turned away to pick up his sword, realizing he had forgotten to clean and sharpen it. He grumbled and pulled the two-handed sword from its sheath and sat back down on the bed, wondering when Edric was going to leave, because he couldn't see any reason why Edric would want to stay. Farkas had made things awkward and uncomfortable again, even worse than before, and he could hear Edric guzzling down the booze again, polishing off the second bottle and setting it on the side table with a clunk. Finishing off two bottles of mead in quick succession like that would have had even a man as big as Farkas well on the way to getting drunk, and Edric didn't seem even tipsy.

He heard the creak of the chair as Edric got up, and he kept his eyes on his sword and the oiled cleaning cloth in his hand, preparing himself for Edric to either leave or go for another bottle. Instead he heard the soft twang of the lute being picked up. He looked up in shock to see Edric carry the lute to the chair. The young man sat back down, crossing his left leg to set the body of the instrument in his lap. Edric stared at it for a moment then took a deep breath and lifted his left hand to the pegs and began quietly plucking each string as he twisted the corresponding peg. Farkas stayed quiet, blinking in bewilderment as Edric tuned the lute, something Farkas had always known needed to be done but had never had the know-how to do. Two of the eight strings had broken long ago but the pegs for them were still there, wound with the remnants of gut.

Edric quietly said, "It's no wonder you thought you were no good at it. I've never heard one so badly out of tune. Lutes go out of tune easily as it is, so that's saying a lot." Farkas made a soft sound of acknowledgment. "Still…it seems a good quality instrument. It's fortunate that it's been kept down here. The even humidity and temperature have been easy on it." He finished the tuning then strummed across the six remaining strings. "There. The strings are old, but I'll order a fresh set from the College in Solitude. Then I'll teach you to play, if you want."

"You'd do that?" Farkas whispered. Edric made a sound of assent, nodding slightly, his eyes still on the lute. Farkas couldn't help a faint wolfish whine from escaping as Edric began to play a simple tune, slowly and haltingly at first, as if it had been years since he'd last played. He winced every so often as he misplaced a finger, but his fingerings and plucking became surer as the minutes passed.

Farkas sighed with bittersweet pleasure as he watched Edric play, the sword forgotten in his lap. Edric looked so handsome with the candlelight on the good side of his face and the sound of the lute was so pretty that all Farkas could do was stare. It didn't seem possible, or fair, that anyone could be so beautiful and talented. It was like Dibella herself had taken male form and plunked herself down in Farkas' quarters.

"Still up for that hunt?" Edric asked. "Tonight, maybe?"

"Yes." Farkas knew his answer sounded pathetic, full of longing, but Edric lifted his eyes finally and gave him a gentle, hesitant smile he didn't care. Farkas felt himself smiling back, and when Edric's smile broadened then he laughed and dropped his eyes then shyly glanced up again Farkas knew he was lost. He had no hope at all of staying away from him, Vilkas and the Companions and everything else be damned. Farkas remembered the sword in his lap and set it aside; if he tried cleaning or sharpening it now he'd end up taking off a finger. He hugged his middle as he leaned forward and watched Edric play, the other man glancing at him every so often, each time seeming a little embarrassed by the attention, though pleased. Farkas asked curiously, "Are you a bard?"

"Oh no," Edric laughed, shaking his head. "I've…mmm, had some mutually beneficial dealings with the College. Fetched some items for them in exchange for training here and there and access to their library. I ah, suppose I am technically a member, but I'm not a bard by any means. I actually learned the lute from my mother, the basics, but most of my lessons came while in the Legion. Mostly on the round-bodied Cyrodiilic lute."

"Really." He'd never seen a round-bodied lute, only the Nordic one.

"Mm-hm. Many fabulous musicians in the service. Horns, drums, flutes, voice…not a night went by without some kind of music. I've…missed that." Edric sighed in regret and switched to another tune. "It's been a long time since I've played. Over a year."

The sorrowful statement made Farkas wonder if the death of Edric's lover was the reason for that. "You sound really good," Farkas assured him.

"Thanks."

"Are your parents still alive?" Edric's lips pursed as he seemed to debate how to answer that. "Never mind," Farkas quickly said.

"No, it's all right," Edric sighed. "I know I haven't been…forthcoming about much. I have my reasons. I can't say a whole lot, but I promise I'll never lie to you. You'll have to trust me on that."

"Okay."

Farkas' ready answer made Edric smile briefly, then he lowered his eyes to the lute again as he said, "I never knew my father growing up. My mother always had a different story each week about why he wasn't around, or who he was. She's…a bit…unstable."

"Oh. Uh…oh."

Edric sighed, "She tried to be a good mother, but she was so young when I was born. Just a kid herself. Not married. Her parents and grandparents dead. She didn't stand a chance, really. She didn't have the…tools, I suppose. To do it on her own. We were always moving around, because of her paranoia. I spent most of my childhood running around the outskirts of Skyrim with Mum while she…worked. She was a ah, working girl. Or became one, to support me. That stopped when I joined the Legion and could start supporting her instead." He glanced at Farkas and saw only sympathy there.

"People do what they have to," Farkas said quietly. He wasn't about to judge. "You seem okay."

"I do, don't I. Well…that's good."

Farkas frowned in concern. Edric did seem okay for how he had been raised, just that small glimpse of it. But he wasn't really okay. He wouldn't drink the way he did if he was okay. Most Nords drank for fun, but Edric clearly took no pleasure from it. "Where is she now?" Edric had spoken of her in the present tense, so she must be alive.

"Riften. I try to go there a few times a year. That's ah, where I was, after I took care of the job at Shor's Stone. I have someone taking care of her. They've grown close, like a mother and daughter. Mum is nuttier than a Camlorn fruitcake, harmless, but it gets harder every time I see her. I still remember how pretty she was, when I was a kid. The most beautiful girl I've ever seen. I guess…I mostly take after her, not my father." He abruptly stopped playing and stood, his expression going cool. He turned the lute over and told Farkas, "Since you don't have a case or stand for it, you'll need to store it lying on its strings, face down."

"Sure," he agreed with a nod.

Edric laid it on one of the shelves under the bar. "I'm going to the temple for a few hours." Farkas looked at him in confusion, nearly asking him why, then he thought better of it and nodded. "Let me know when you're ready to head out."

"Sure," he repeated.

Edric let himself out, closing the door again behind him, and Farkas grumbled and put his head in his hands, trying to make sense of everything. At least Edric had opened up a little. That he had come back here at all meant something. He had closed the door and put himself into that chair with a purpose. He had drunk with a purpose too, as if to give himself courage, to work himself up to something. He had looked completely shocked by Farkas' not-very-discreet comment about Kodlak's blessing, but still he had stayed. He had tuned Farkas' lute and played him some songs. He had offered to take him on a hunt tonight. Sure he had closed himself off again as he left, but maybe he was still grappling with something. Maybe…

Maybe Edric was willing to let Farkas court him. Maybe Edric was lonely, and tired of grieving. Sure, he was probably going to war next year, but he hadn't said he wouldn't come back after that. Jergen hadn't, but as great a warrior as he had been, Jergen was no Edric. Werewolf or not, Jergen had just been a warrior. Edric was more than that. Farkas could tell he was. He would just have to use the time until Edric left giving the other man reasons to come back.

* * *

**A/N: I've always found the lutes in Skyrim to be extremely odd. They look and sound like lyre-guitars more than anything, but I'll keep referring to them as lutes for simplicity's sake.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Vilkas - 28th of Heartfire, 4E205**

Vilkas watched through narrowed eyes as Edric came through Jorrvaskr's front doors, still dressed in the russet tunic and brown pants of that morning. Vilkas had no clue where Edric had been for the last three hours, but the younger man hadn't been out in the training yard with the other whelps since he had joined. As if he felt he had no need for it. As if he thought he was better than the others. Even the Circle trained nearly every day at something, if only for the exercise.

Skjor called out to Edric, "Newblood! Over here, by me."

"Wonderful," Vilkas muttered as Skjor pointed to the empty seat between the two of them at the long table. Edric wasn't pleased either, his tongue in his cheek as his green eyes landed on Vilkas.

"This involves you, brother," Skjor murmured to Vilkas.

"How so?"

"You'll see." Edric came over and put his hands on the back of the seat, and Skjor pointed at it and ordered, "Have a seat, whelp." Edric sighed in forbearance and did so. "Eat up." The young man did that as well, putting a few items on his plate. Vilkas frowned at the small portions. He supposed even if Edric was a Nord, he couldn't eat like one at his size. Skjor leaned back in his seat and folded his arms. "I talked to the old man about you."

"Really?" Edric said in mock excitement, turning to give Skjor his full attention. "What did he say?"

Skjor stared at him with disapproval for a moment then said, "You're a little shit sometimes, you know that?"

"Aye, that I do."

The young man's expression went cool again as he cut himself a small piece of bread, and Skjor looked over the top of Edric's brown and white head to see Vilkas staring back with cold eyes. Skjor lifted an eyebrow but Vilkas didn't react to it, his gaze unchanging. Skjor narrowed his eye at the other werewolf then looked back down to Edric, saying, "Kodlak and I both feel that your time has come."

"Already?" Vilkas asked doubtfully. "No. It is too soon."

"That's not for you to say, brother."

"He has been here not even three weeks and was gone for most of that time. He's done one job."

Skjor shook his head at him, turning sideways to put his arm over the back of the chair. "Is there some time requirement that I've been unaware of all these years?"

Torvar lurched out of his chair, making Njada and Athis sigh in disgust while Ria's eyes widened in apprehension. "Now just see here a minute," he slurred. "You ain't serious about making the newblood official already?"

Skjor turned to look at him and said, "I'm always serious, Torvar. This is a decision both the Harbinger and I, as his second, have made."

"That's bullshit," Torvar said more heatedly. "It took nearly nine months for me to earn my way in!"

Edric stated, "Maybe that's because you make about as good a Companion as your father does a Jarl." Vilkas' mouth fell open as Athis and Ria gasped and Njada chuckled with malicious glee and Skjor closed his eye and shook his head.

"You little fucker," Torvar whispered in disbelieving anger. "I'm going to have your hide for that. I'm going to have your goddamn hide!"

Edric shrugged. "You can have it if you can take it." The blond came up behind Edric and kicked his chair, and the younger man murmured, "I'm in a shitty mood. Don't mess with me."

Skjor barked, "Back off, Torvar. You do _not_ want to go there."

Torvar leaned close to Edric and sneered, "Whose cock did you suck to—"

Vilkas drew in a sharp breath at the unbelievable insult but had no chance to stop the drunk before Edric's right elbow came up and smashed Torvar in the nose, making the other man scream in pain and stagger back, holding his face as blood began streaming down onto his tunic. Edric continued eating as if nothing had happened, and Vilkas felt a chill go across his skin that left goose bumps in its wake.

"I could heal that for you, if you say you're sorry," Edric offered through a mouthful of venison.

"Fuck you!" Torvar shouted.

"I already told you I wouldn't. Stop asking."

Torvar was so enraged his face was nearly purple, and Vilkas said in a tone of disquiet, "All right, enough already. Edric, heal him." Edric's tongue ran across his teeth, as if he was considering disobeying, then he continued eating again as he held his right hand Torvar's direction and directed deep yellow light from his palm towards the other man. The blonde shook his head, lifting the hem of his tunic to wipe his mouth and nose, murder in his blue eyes, and Vilkas said to him in warning, "If I ever, _ever,_ hear you imply that a member of the Circle has taken favors, let alone our Harbinger and his second, I will beat you to within an inch of your life, and you will not be getting healed afterwards. Am I understood?"

"Yeah, I get you," Torvar muttered. He hissed at Edric, "Next time I'm sober, it's you and me, in the yard."

Skjor snorted and shook his head, and Edric nodded and said in an amiable tone, "Sure. Though considering you're hardly ever sober, I hope you'll understand if I don't hold my breath."

Torvar seethed, and Skjor waved his hand at him and tiredly said, "Just get the hell out of here. You're cut off for the night." Torvar kept staring at Edric's back as if he hadn't heard, breathing hard, then the drunk turned and unsteadily walked away. Once Torvar was out of earshot Skjor muttered to Edric, "You're not doing yourself any favors, lad."

"He's nobody," Edric said in quiet dismissal. He glanced at the older man and prompted, "You were saying? About my time?"

Skjor took a deep breath then slowly let it out. "Last week a scholar came here. Said he knew where we could find another fragment of Wuuthrad." Vilkas looked surprised at that, and Skjor shrugged one shoulder and said to him, "He seemed a fool to me, but if he's right, our honor demands that we seek it out. I'd like Edric to go get it."

Edric nodded. "Sure, I can do that."

"I know it seems a simple errand, but Kodlak and I feel this would make a good Trial for you. Carry yourself with honor and you will become a full Companion."

"Yes sir. Where's the fragment?"

"Dustman's Cairn. About a day's ride northeast of here." Edric thought for a moment then nodded. "I had thought to send Farkas with you as your shield-sibling, however he just returned from a job, and Kodlak feels he may not be impartial enough for the task, since he feels he owes you his life." Skjor glanced over Edric's head at Vilkas then continued to the young man, "Therefore Vilkas here will accompany you on your Trial."

Edric laughed and shook his head then started digging into his food again. "Sure. Why the hell not. It'll be fun."

Vilkas hissed at Skjor, "You bastard."

"What's the problem, brother?" the older man countered. "Do we need to question your impartiality as well?"

"That isn't it at all. It's _him,"_ he said, nodding his chin towards Edric. "Him and his smart mouth." He could just imagine the torment of Edric's sass the entire way there and back, the strain of trying not to react to his well-timed jabs and insults. If the whelp was bold enough to insult a Jarl and a Companion in the same breath there was nothing he wouldn't do, and Vilkas was self-aware enough to know that he was not only an easy but tempting target.

Edric shrugged one shoulder and stated, "I'm all business while on a job." He smiled at Vilkas sideways and added, "I promise I won't disappoint. Or get you killed." He reached for the full bottle of ale in front of him then paused, and after a moment he flexed his hand then sat back. "When do you want to head out? I have obligations tonight and in the morning, but I can leave after lunch tomorrow."

"What obligations?" Vilkas spat. "How the hell can you have obligations?"

"Why wouldn't I have obligations? I made some promises I intend to keep, and that's that. Will lunchtime do or not?"

Vilkas struggled with how to answer. If he made things difficult he would look like a petulant child. If he readily agreed it would look like Edric was in charge, and that was something Vilkas couldn't tolerate. The whelp would _never_ have any authority over Vilkas. He would die before he let that happen. He finally pushed his chair back and stood, saying in annoyance, "We will leave the morning after."

"You really want to waste an entire afternoon's travel time?"

"The fewer nights I spend on the road with you the better."

"Suit yourself."

Vilkas turned away, feeling cheated somehow, and heard Skjor offer to spar with Edric tomorrow afternoon, to which the whelp readily agreed. Well then, that was something Vilkas wasn't about to miss. Skjor was the toughest of all the members of the Circle, his experience and stamina outweighing Vilkas' skill, Farkas' strength or Aela's speed. Vilkas would be more than happy to watch the older man put the arrogant pup in his place.

**Farkas**

Farkas' heart leapt into his throat at the sound of a soft knock on his door. He had been wondering how he was going to get Edric from the common quarters without waking up the others, and this had to be Edric; Vilkas always pounded on the door even when he wasn't angry, and Vilkas was certainly angry tonight. He had shut himself in his room after dinner, furious about being sent on a job with Edric. Vilkas could have refused, but there really wasn't any way he could do that without looking like a big baby. Farkas didn't like the idea of his grouchy brother being on the road with Edric, but at least if Vilkas said he was worthy of being a Companion there wouldn't be any doubt in anyone's mind.

Farkas opened the door and smiled hesitantly, seeing Edric standing there with a slight frown on his face, looking sad and anxious, then his expression went neutral as he looked up at Farkas. "I uh, I really appreciate this," the big man murmured.

"That's why I'm doing it," Edric replied just as softly. He glanced behind him at Vilkas' door. "Is Sweetness asleep?"

Farkas grimaced at the nickname but let it go, trusting Edric to not say it in front of anyone else. Vilkas would go crazy if he found out. "I think so. I heard him pounding on his dummy before he went to bed."

"Huh, that's what they call it here?" Farkas let out a guffaw before he caught himself, and Edric chuckled and motioned with his head. "Let's head out before it gets any later. I can feel the weather changing and don't want to get caught in a downpour."

"Really?" Farkas said with interest, going back inside his room to pull on his boots. "I've heard of that. Skjor can sometimes tell when it's going to rain. His body really got beat to hell when he was a soldier. You can tell the old wounds still hurt sometimes." Edric didn't answer right away, and when Farkas glanced at him he was staring at the full bottle of mead on the bar then he licked his lips and looked away. Well that was going to stop, at least in here. While Edric was gone on his Trial, Farkas was going to clean every single bottle of anything out of his room, along with the old empty kegs. He'd keep the bar, since it was a nice height for whittling at comfortably, but every other reminder of drinking had to go. Edric's drinking obviously made him unhappy, so Farkas would make his room the one place it wasn't a temptation.

"Yeah, mine too," Edric murmured.

"What's that?" he asked in confusion. He'd forgotten what they were talking about.

"The old wounds. That's how I can feel the weather changing. It makes my bones ache. The ones that have been broken. You can heal them, but…it leaves a memory behind. You're never quite the same afterward."

Edric looked up and saw Farkas gazing at him with worry, then Farkas shook himself and grabbed up an oiled leather cloak and his great-sword. He then stopped and made a face as he muttered, "I hadn't really thought about how we're going to get out there. You, I mean." Edric wasn't a member of the Circle, and it was forbidden for any but the Circle to even see the Underforge being opened.

"Skjor said you can take me through the Underforge, as long as I keep my eyes closed the entire time. I promised him I would."

"Oh. Okay." It was a relief to hear, and touching that Edric had talked to Skjor about it. As he closed his bedroom door Farkas suddenly realized that to lead Edric through the Underforge he'd have to guide him through it. Hold onto him. Maybe even hold his hand. The thought was a bit stressful and exciting all at once. Edric wasn't wearing gauntlets, either. The younger man was wearing dark wool pants with a studded leather gambeson and knee-high boots with hard soles; a baldric was slung across his chest with Stormfang on his back, and he was holding a quiver of steel arrows and a dwarven bow on his right shoulder. Edric felt his attention and glanced up at him then blushed and looked away. _Blushed._

"Well then," Edric murmured, "lead on."

Farkas nodded and stifled a sigh as he headed out, trying to keep a lid on his emotions. Edric had blushed. Farkas shoved the thought away but it came back to him over and over again as they quietly made their way out of a sleepy Jorrvaskr, encountering no one as they went. It was late at night, sometime after eleven, and unless they were feasting everyone was usually asleep by ten.

They reached the door to the Underforge and before Farkas could say anything Edric pointedly looked away. Farkas looked around then quickly hit the hidden control that opened the door. Edric turned back and his eyes were squeezed shut, and when the younger man held out his hand Farkas bit his lip and tentatively took it. When Edric's fingers wrapped around his own it was all Farkas could do not to let out a whine of longing. He'd never held another man's hand before. It was such a simple thing, but there was something so intimate about it that he felt himself stirring. He gritted his teeth and tried to think of anything but sex, and it was impossible. It was silent inside the small cavern and it magnified the sound of Edric's breathing, and their linked hands kept them close. Edric's skin was warm, as a Nord's always was, and lightly calloused, slender but still masculine.

Farkas silently led him through the rough tunnel that exited the Underforge, all the while unable to think of anything but the feel of Edric's hand holding his. And it was. It would have been easy enough for Edric to simply offer his hand and let Farkas tug him along, and instead Edric held Farkas' hand in turn. Not tightly, but he was holding it of his own accord. They reached the end of the tunnel and he sensed outward, listening intently and sniffing to make sure no one was on the other side, then he pulled the chain that opened the door that guarded the exit. Once they were on the other side and it slid closed he murmured, "You can open your eyes now."

Edric opened his eyes and blinked a couple times, then he said in surprise, "This is the exit?" Farkas made a sound of assent. It was the remains of an old guard post, with a high ledge, a barrel and a few old crates, just above the Battle-Born farm. Edric made a sound of dread and said, "The Silver Hand could find this much too easily, Farkas."

"I've smelled people in here before. Scent they left behind. Never seen any sign that anyone's tried to get in though." He realized Edric's hand was still in his, and he waited for the other man to let go, because Farkas wasn't about to be the first to do so. He cleared his throat and went on, "Uh, I…we can tell when someone is on the other side. When we're inside, before the door is opened. And we always make sure no one is around when we go back in. And you can't see the door from this side."

"All right, but…I had no idea the exit was this obvious. Shit, that's scary." His fingers slid out of Farkas' hand and he walked to the ledge then squatted and hopped down. Edric peeked out of the opening then held his hand up to Farkas and warned, "Don't panic."

"Why would…" He trailed off as Edric's right hand lit up with a pale blue glow, and the younger man slowly walked out of the ruined tower as he scanned the surrounding area. When he let his hand fall the light died, and Farkas whispered in shock, "You're a mage?"

"No, not…really. I suppose I'm technically a spellsword, but I don't always use magic when I'm fighting." Edric rubbed the back of his neck then looked up at Farkas, and it wasn't hard to see the guarded look there even in the dark. "I know how the Companions feel about magic in their ranks. It's short-sighted in my opinion, but I came here intending to respect that." He made a bitter, scoffing sound and looked back out at the slowly turning windmill, its creak the only sound evident at the moment. "Funny how everyone was excited that I could heal. As if that talent miraculously springs from some different source than other magics." When Farkas didn't respond he rubbed his hand over his face then let his hand fall. "All I was doing was seeing if anyone was around. A spell to Detect Life. It was how I knew how many Silver Hand were attacking you and where they were in the dark."

When Edric said nothing else, standing silently with his back to Farkas, Farkas jumped down from the ledge and stared at him for a minute, not knowing what to say. He nearly asked _Does Kodlak know?_ but even he wasn't that stupid. Of course Kodlak knew. Kodlak knew everything about Edric.

"Okay then, let's get this over with," Edric muttered as he started walking, making his way around the hill to head northeast.

Farkas' expression crumpled as he watched Edric's back retreat and heard a soft huffing sound then a shuddering intake of breath followed by the faintest whispered _Should've known…_so faint that even his enhanced hearing could barely make it out. When the younger man disappeared out of sight Farkas made a sound of anxiety and hurried after him. He could only imagine what that sad sound and faint whisper meant, and none of the options were good. It definitely meant that he had hurt Edric, and that was something he had sworn to himself he would never do.

He caught up to Edric and stated, "I'm sorry."

"For what, being a Nord? Being a Companion?" Edric replied, his tone bitter. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I promised the old man I would stay until spring and try to fit in here and I meant it. I'll be a good Companion until then. No more magic."

Farkas grumbled unhappily as they made their way around the backside of Dragonsreach, unseen by the Whiterun guards at their post below next to the road. "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings," he stated quietly. "That's what I meant." Edric's steps faltered slightly then he continued on. "I didn't mean to upset you. I was just…surprised. I've never seen magic up close except for healing. From…uh, good guys, I guess. I've seen it plenty from bad guys." Edric didn't answer as they passed below the Great Porch. Farkas looked up at it and said, "Everyone says the Dragonborn was really good with magic. That he could've been the Archmage of the College of Winterhold but wouldn't take the job. And he was a good guy. Is, I mean."

"Really." The muttered response wasn't much happier than before, but at least it was a response.

"I met him once. The day he caught a dragon up there. He let me go up there with him and look at the dragon. It was one of the greatest days of my life. I wish I could've seen him, just once. Before…well, before." Before Alduin boiled his hair and face away and left him a cripple. Farkas hoped the Dragonborn was finding some kind of peace with the monks, using the thu'um for the glory of Kynareth and the Divines. Every time thunder sounded around the peak of the Throat of the World Farkas knew it must be him. Edric grunted in reply. "Vilkas saw him, the day he confronted Jarl Ulfric, I mean High King Ulfric. Vilkas was really upset about it. I've hardly ever seen him like that about anything. About a stranger, I mean."

"Well, I'm sure it was pretty gruesome."

"I guess it was. Vilkas said he had nightmares about it off and on for weeks afterwards. He felt awful for the Dragonborn. I guess, just…try to remember that, when he's being difficult. He does have feelings, he just…squashes them." Edric grunted again and Farkas assumed it was an affirmative. "Vilkas said the Dragonborn said he was beautiful before. It would be horrible no matter what, but…" Edric didn't answer. "And then losing his hus—"

Edric stopped abruptly and waved his hand towards the plains. "Where are we going to do this?" he asked curtly.

Farkas swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment as he writhed with guilt. He'd completely forgotten Edric's own loss while he was blathering along like an idiot, trying to put the younger man at ease and obviously failing miserably. He nearly suggested scrapping the outing entirely but knew that if he did that Edric would really get upset, seeing as they were already out here. "Uh, this way," he mumbled, moving past Edric, getting a hint of spice and maleness on the breeze as he passed him. He sighed unhappily when it seemed Edric wasn't going to follow him then he heard the soft crunch of the other man's feet in the dry grass behind him.

He stayed silent as they headed out into the open fields to the northeast of town, where a small copse of pine trees stood. The Circle often came here as a pack with Aela that one night in the spring. The thought of spring usually made Farkas happy, but now he could only think of it with sorrow, knowing that Edric would be leaving then. Farkas' big mouth had made it likely too that Edric would think twice before coming back, and might not come back at all, if he even lived through war with the elves. Farkas wasn't sure what had possessed him to start rattling on like that. He knew what he had intended, but he should have known that mentioning dead loved ones had been a huge mistake. Well, no one had ever said he was smart, but he was usually good with people. Edric was so hard to read that Farkas felt blind around him.

They reached the small grove and Farkas raised his nose to the air, feeling the breeze blowing from the southwest, bearing with it the smell of dry earth and the mixed scents of the city, many of them not so pleasant. That was one thing he wouldn't miss if Kodlak ever found a cure, and if Farkas decided to take it. His sense of smell in beast form was excruciatingly strong, but at least he was always outdoors and outside a city or town when he changed.

He heard Edric stop and glanced behind him to see the younger man standing by one of the pines, his arms folded tightly, his expression unreadable in the dark. Edric's hunched posture nearly radiated misery. Farkas made a soft sound of frustration and pulled off his baldric, afraid to say anything else and destroy things beyond all hope. For a brief moment he considered that maybe he was wasting his time. That maybe Edric simply was beyond repair. The moment was very brief. Farkas wasn't a quitter. He never had been. If Edric really didn't want Farkas' attention then he would've been clearer about it. Farkas was sure of that.

Farkas braced himself then stated sadly, "I should have kept my stupid mouth shut." Edric made a sorrowful scoffing sound and shook his head. "I'm not a smart man. I know that. But I know better than to bring up certain things, and I did, and I'm sorry."

"Stop telling me you're sorry," Edric whispered, hunching in on himself further as he looked away.

"But I am, and I can't just…leave it. Leave you thinking whatever you're thinking."

"I'm thinking I'm fucked up and it's best if you do just leave it."

The choked, anguished statement made Farkas huff in grief. "I don't believe that. I think you're hurting and lonely. I told myself I would just stay back and not say anything and let you be the one to choose how everything goes but I can't do it. If I do you'll just hurt yourself worse. I'm sorry I added to it but it wasn't on purpose. I would never hurt you on purpose." Edric shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Farkas could almost smell the unhappiness pouring off him. He moved closer to the younger man and murmured, "I hate seeing you suffer, Edric. I could see it from the day we met. I want…I wish…" He made a sound of embarrassment and stopped himself before he really blew everything to hell. He sighed heavily and bent over to pull off his boots. "I'll just…get this over with," he mumbled. Edric nodded and moved away, and Farkas couldn't tell if it was to give him privacy, to watch for danger, or just to avoid him altogether.

He kept an eye on Edric while he stripped his clothing off. How he wished he could enjoy this the way he had planned to. The now of beast thought would take care of some of it, but Edric's pain would linger in the back of Farkas' mind, tainting the pleasure the hunt brought.

Farkas set his clothing aside at the base of a tree, shivering as a cool breeze hit his nether regions. He was used to stripping in the shelter of the Underforge's exit tunnel and leaving it furry. He had a good amount of body hair but nothing like his wolf form did. He hesitated, staring at Edric's back, then he sighed again and let the change sweep through him. The pain hit him in the chest like a hammer and he fell to his knees, groaning loudly. He heard a sound of dismay from Edric but squeezed his eyes shut, afraid to see the fear and disgust there. That was one more thing he hadn't really thought out ahead of time.

As he felt his teeth sharpen and lengthen and his body stretch in all directions and his skin itch with sprouting fur, the pain retreated and the haze of beast thought clouded his mind. He shook out his fur then raised his muzzle to the sky and howled, and when he heard another sound from Edric he opened his eyes. The young male's face was now clear as day, though the big, pretty eyes had lost their green, and they stared at Farkas with a look of morbid fascination.

"Farkas," Edric whispered.

The werewolf yipped and wagged his tail, and when he ran at Edric the young man backed up a few steps, his eyes wide and his hands up in front of him, then he stopped himself and held still. Farkas slowly lowered his nose to Edric's hair and smelled it, and when that sweet, spicy scent rose up it made him growl happily. He carefully sniffed Edric's face and neck, the intoxicating smell even stronger there. He rubbed his head against Edric's and heard a shaky laugh, and when he pulled back to look him in the eyes he saw only curiosity there. Edric slowly lifted his hand and touched the top of Farkas' head, and the wolf rumbled in pleasure as Edric's fingers sank into his fur. He nosed along Edric's cheek, filling his nostrils with the scent he couldn't get enough of, then he gave the soft, smooth cheek a lick and broke away. He didn't have much presence of mind, but he had carried the blood long enough to be well aware of the limited time he had to enjoy it.

There were no elk or deer nearby, but he found a burrow of rabbits and dug them out. He left one alive long enough to toss it in the air a few times then shake it in his teeth, and when it died of fright he quickly tore it up and swallowed it down. He felt the time ticking by, barely aware of it, glancing now and then at the pretty male standing watch, his time split between scanning the surrounding area and watching Farkas. How he wished Edric was a werewolf too and they could hunt and run together, and afterwards fall into a tangle in the grass. He had no idea how two males could rut with each other in a wolf's body, but it would be fun to try.

As he felt his time coming to an end he ran to the water and drank his fill, smashing a mudcrab that came too close, then he ran back up the hill to the rabbit burrow and pounced on the remaining terrified rabbit, breaking its neck then biting off its head to let it bleed out, then he scooped up his prize and ran back to Edric. His pretty face was smiling, his head tilted to the side in interest, and the sway of his braid was almost like a tail wagging. Farkas squatted down and tenderly laid out the rabbit at Edric's feet, a gift.

"Ah, this is for me?" Edric murmured, not quite a question. He went down on one knee and set his weapons aside, his body so much smaller then the werewolf's. Tiny. Dainty. Pretty. He petted the rabbit's fur, and Farkas made a whining sound of yearning, finding him so beautiful he couldn't stand it. He nosed along Edric's cheek then rubbed his head against him, and when he felt Edric's hands in the fur of his neck it made him growl with a growing need. His intended mate had liked the gift of meat and was touching him right where werewolves nipped at each other when they were mating, and he smelled so good, so very very good…

"Uh…" Edric grunted uneasily as Farkas' growls took on a deeper tone, and he pulled his hands out of the thick fur and leaned back. He yelped in alarm as Farkas gently but forcefully headbutted him and knocked him onto his rear. "Hey big guy," he said with a wary laugh. "Careful there." Farkas' nose drifted down Edric's body as he sniffed and growled in almost a purr, and when the nose started nearing his crotch Edric squawked and rolled away. He got to his knees and tried to sprint away but a massive clawed hand caught his ankle then the other pushed on his shoulder and shoved him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him.

Farkas huffed happily at the sight of his intended's round little rump and crawled up the slender body, not really knowing what to do with his very obvious and insistent need other than to start rubbing it against Edric, who made a bewildered half-laughing, half-panicked sound as he tried crawling away again. Farkas reached out to catch his mate again when he felt the first twinges of the beast receding. He shook his head, whining in disappointment, and he squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered as the change reversed itself.

He kept his eyes shut, hearing nothing but the sound of Edric's slightly quickened breathing beneath him. His appalling behavior came back to him like a slap in the face, and he choked out an obscenity and quickly backed away then leapt to his feet and ran the short distance to the scant shelter of the trees. He pulled on his underclothes then his pants then yanked on his shirt as fast as he could, his face burning with shame. As he pulled on his socks he heard the clank of Edric's weapons as he picked them up, then a minute later the soft crunch of hesitant footsteps approaching.

Farkas sat down to pull on his boots then groaned and pulled up his knees, putting his face in his hands. "I'm…_so_ sorry," he choked, humiliated.

Edric sighed in sympathy, "Ah, Farkas…" Farkas heard Edric kneel behind him, one of his knees cracking, then another clattering sound as he set his weapons aside again. "You couldn't help it," Edric stated. Farkas didn't deny that; it was true. "You didn't hurt me."

"I could've," he whispered. "You're so…" Tiny, especially when Farkas was in beast form and gained another foot of height and another fifty pounds in weight. And there was one thing in particular that was very big and very threatening when he was in that form and aroused. It would have been all too easy for Farkas to accidentally maul Edric with his claws just by grabbing at him. He whined and put his hands over his head, feeling a wave of anguish at the thought of what he had done, and nearly done. "Never again," he choked, shaking his head. "Never."

"Come on now," Edric soothed.

"It'll happen again!"

"Why's that?"

"Because…" Farkas trailed off, unable to just come out and say it. He could tell Edric was trying to make him say it too, the other man's tone light but testing. Fishing. It was such a different Edric from the angry, bitter one of a little while ago. And there was no telling how long it would last.

"Because what?"

Farkas muttered, "Because it would all be the same. There's no reason it wouldn't happen again. I could've hurt you."

"I wouldn't let you hurt me. A little scratch is nothing, and it wouldn't be more than that." He chuckled and slapped Farkas on the back. "Unless you managed to get that giant wolf cock in the right—" Farkas yelled in horrified embarrassment, cutting him off, and Edric laughed at his discomfiture. "Well shit Farkas, it was enormous. I'm just glad I only felt it and didn't actually _see_ it. I might've fainted." Farkas sputtered, letting his hands fall. Edric sat down behind him and added in a teasing tone, "I liked the rabbit."

Farkas demanded in a hurt, angry voice, "Don't."

"Don't what?" Edric asked in confusion.

"Make fun of me. Patronize me."

Edric didn't answer right away, the only sound his breathing, then he said in offense, "You really think that's what I'm doing? Screwing with you? Insulting you? Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because I'm nothing but a stupid, horny beast, that's why. I…I molested you. I sniffed and pawed at you like a piece of meat, then I ran off and fetched game for you and started dry humping you like a stupid fucking dog."

"Hm, well you must've had a good reason for all that. And you call yourself stupid again and I'm gonna have to cuff you upside the head. Just to give you fair warning." Farkas grumbled. "Hasn't that ever happened before?"

"Just around Aela," he muttered. "When she's in beast form. Especially when she's in season."

"In season! Really! Huh. I had no idea that happened."

"Every spring. Usually sometime in First Seed. All unmated female werewolves go through it. It's the only time she lets us anywhere near her, you know, that way. She usually likes being by herself when she's changed, but that one night every spring she calls the pack together and we get to take turns chasing her and uh, well, um..." He trailed off, feeling awkward, and more than a little embarrassed. It didn't feel entirely right to discuss this with someone who didn't share the beastblood. Edric made a sound of curiosity, and Farkas reluctantly went on, "I don't have any interest in her other than when she's in beast form, especially the one night she's in season, but when she is she…smells good, and instinct just takes over. You wouldn't even be able to stay away from her if you were one of us."

Edric laughed, "Right. I've never touched a woman in my life and not even that would be enough to make me."

"Not even once?" Farkas replied in amazement.

"Nope." He gestured with his hands and said in mild distaste, "The boobs. The curves. Their voices. The monthly thing, gah. Women make great friends but if I had to choose between an ugly guy and a gorgeous woman, I'd still have to take the guy. I can't help it. I like men. I…did…"

Edric cut off with a sudden sound of pain, and when Farkas glanced back over his shoulder he saw the younger man's eyes were closed, his expression of grief barely visible in the dark.

"Tell me why you did it," Edric demanded in a harsh whisper. When Farkas didn't answer right away, confused, he pressed, "The hawk. The sniffing, the licking and growling. The…the rabbit." When he still didn't answer Edric yelled, "Give me a reason, dammit!"

Farkas swallowed, flinching, and looked forward again. A reason. Edric wanted a reason. But it was more than that, Farkas knew. Edric was asking for a reason to risk his heart again, as if he was terrified of it. Farkas didn't blame him one bit. But it wasn't as if Farkas wasn't afraid of all this too, just a little. He began in a halting tone, "I…made the hawk because you saved my life and you worship Kynareth, and because when I saw you fighting those Silver Hand you were just like the breath of Kyne, the way you blew through them. Just like I told Vilkas. That's all there was to that." He took a deep breath and sighed in embarrassment and admitted, "I can't help sniffing you. I have a strong sense of smell, because of what I am, and it's even stronger when I'm a beast. You…you smell good. Really good. Like…spicy. But a sweet spicy. Like the cinnamon Tilma used to put in our porridge. Your smell, it…every time I smell it, it makes me happy, like…" Like he'd found something he hadn't even known he was missing. "I uh, gave you the rabbit…it was…a gift. A…uh…c-courting gift." He added in embarrassment, "In a dumb wolf way, I guess. I know it's stu-, uh, silly. But it seemed like a good idea at the time." Gods, that came out awkward. He never had been good with words, not like his brother, but even Vilkas would have had a hard time with this.

It was silent, and the silence stretched on for so long that Farkas nearly said something, nearly asked if that was answer enough, then he finally heard Edric swallow as his breathing grew uneven, could hear the rapid beat of the other man's heart, then a soft peep of a question, full of so many mixed emotions Farkas couldn't begin to sort them out.

"Courting gift?"

Farkas hesitated then quietly said, "I asked Kodlak if it was okay to court you and he gave me his blessing." There, he said it. Edric's breathing grew so stressed that Farkas feared he was going to start crying, or maybe take off running. "I didn't know you were going to war when I asked. I didn't know you'd be…leaving. I guess Kodlak knew, but…"

"He doesn't know everything he thinks he does."

The bitter, resentful statement was a little shocking. "Like what? I thought he knew you were going to war next spring."

"I wasn't planning on ever coming back." Farkas drew in a sharp breath. "To Whiterun. To Skyrim. To…anything."

"You were going to stay in the south?" he asked in dismay. "Why?"

"No, I was going to…I was…" Edric made an almost wailing sound of frustration. "I had it all planned out. I…I was going to be with my man again in Sovngarde and the old fucker is ruining everything!"

Horrified, Farkas turned and looked at him. Edric had his knees drawn up and his forehead on his forearms, shivering, but it wasn't that cold out. "No," he whispered fearfully. "Tell me you weren't going to do it!" He didn't like hearing Edric call Kodlak that either. It just wasn't right, no matter how upset Edric was.

"I was going to let the elves do it. I was going to fight them to the end then let them kill me. I don't have the guts to do it myself so someone else has to."

"No. _No._ Tell me you won't. Promise me you won't!" This all had to be the most awful thing Farkas had ever heard in his life. He couldn't even begin to understand the kind of hurt that would drive someone so pretty and talented to suicide. That would drive anyone to it.

"Give me a reason not to."

Realizing things couldn't get any worse, Farkas grimaced then decided to be honest. He usually was, but he'd been afraid of scaring off Edric, but things were worse than he'd imagined, and maybe this was the only way. Just put it all out there and hope for the best, because this was pretty bad. "Me. I want to be the reason." Edric's shivering stopped as he went still, though he didn't lift his head. Farkas cleared his throat and ignored the warmth in his cheeks then went on, "That morning, after you saved my life…when I saw your face and you smiled at me, it was like…it was like…" He faltered, not having the words to describe it, so he wasn't even going to try. "We went to sleep and when I woke up you were in my arms and you fit there just right, and I smelled that sweet smell, and ever since then you're all I think about, all the time."

Edric made a sound of bewilderment and lifted his head, staring straight ahead of him. Farkas continued, "I know I'm not smart. I can't even read. I know you could do better than me, a lot better, but…I'd be good to you. I'd always put you first." Edric closed his eyes and rubbed them with one hand then kept it there, his knees still drawn up. "I know I kind of scared you, with the bird and…and whatever you saw on my face that made you run away, but you came back, and when you played that lute I just knew…I knew you were the one for me. Maybe I'm not the one for you, but if you gave it time, maybe you could love me someday."

Farkas left it at that. Edric made a soft sound of sorrowful surprise as he lowered his hand and opened his eyes. He stared up at the distant lights of the city, the bobbing torches of the guards walking the walls and the warm windows of Dragonsreach, and Farkas let him be, to sort out whatever it was he was thinking. Maybe it wasn't good, but that Edric had told him at all what his plans had been for the end of the war—and his life—meant something. He hadn't had to tell Farkas anything, but he had, and Farkas chose to believe that somewhere deep inside Edric had said it because he knew Farkas could change his mind. _Give me a reason!_ That told Farkas that Edric wasn't really committed to ending his life, that he was really just crying out for help. If he really wanted to die he would've said nothing and just gone out and done it. Farkas had the feeling too that Kodlak did know how bad off Edric really was, and that was why he had given his blessing to something he otherwise would have discouraged.

Farkas turned back around to give Edric some semblance of privacy. He tucked his pants into his boots then waited patiently, raising his nose to the night breeze and taking some measure of contentment from a pleasurable hunt, even if it was just a bunch of rabbits. It would placate his beast for another week or two, anyway.

He finally heard a long exhalation behind him then Edric shifted in the grass. Farkas stayed where he was, waiting, and when he felt the barest touch of a hand on his back, barely more than the light touch of Edric's fingertips, he held his breath, feeling a spark of hope. Well, he'd always had that, but then he heard Edric shift again and felt the other man's warmth lean against his back, sending his heart into his throat. Farkas felt Edric lay his cheek against his shoulder as the younger man huddled against him, as if trying to get some kind of comfort from the touch without going so far as to let Farkas hold him. But how he wanted to. The feel of Edric against him was wonderful and torture at the same time.

"I would never do you wrong, I swear," Farkas murmured. He felt Edric nod. "I'm sorry you're sad, but at least let me try to make it better." Edric didn't answer or even nod that time, but he didn't move away either, and after a few minutes of silence Farkas felt Edric sigh against his back as he shifted a bit but stayed there.

"Can I think about it? Until after the 13th?"

That was still over two weeks away, but that was okay. Farkas understood why. "Sure," he said with a nod. "Whatever you want. I won't push."

"I might be away for a little while. Around then."

"I understand." It was quiet for a few minutes, then Farkas changed the subject, saying, "I'm worried about your Trial. Because of Vilkas. I heard about what happened in the hall, with Torvar being an asshole and Vilkas getting snotty. Athis told me."

"Torvar is going to get his ass kicked," Edric stated quietly. "I'll manage Vilkas. I won't let him dominate me, but I won't provoke him, I promise. Though it seems all I have to do is be around for that to happen."

"Vilkas…he uh, he's mad because he knows I…have feelings for you. He wants me to court Narri with him. The barmaid at Dead Man's Drink in Falkreath."

"Huh. Well, she is gorgeous, I have to admit." Edric snorted a tired laugh. "Though with his total lack of charisma, I think it would be you who'd end up doing all the courting on his behalf."

Farkas growled, "I'm not courting her. I'm courting you." He faltered then added, "If you decide to let me."

Edric sighed, sitting up from Farkas' broad back, and the big man tried not to grumble over losing the comforting warmth, but at least Edric stayed there. "It isn't that," Edric mumbled. "If it would be anyone, it would be you. It's…I don't know if I can take it again. It was too…intense. Especially with the war and everything else that was going on that whole time."

"You were together through the whole war?"

"Three years. We…I…I loved him from the first time I saw him, but…" Edric let out a tiny, awkward laugh. "He was mostly straight and I had to chase him a little. It wasn't…maybe it wasn't the best match, but we were best friends and he loved me the best he could, considering. I sometimes think, if I had been the one who died instead of him, maybe he would've been better off than I've been. I know it wasn't…equal. The feelings involved."

Dismayed, Farkas turned sideways. Edric had a look of deep despair on his face. Hopelessness. He ventured, "Well I uh, felt the way I do from the first time I saw you, and I know I feel more than you do, but that's okay. There's usually one who loves more than the other." Edric sighed and drew up his knees again, and Farkas lightly patted him on the back in an attempt to comfort, fully expecting the other man to pull away. To his surprise and pleasure Edric leaned into him instead. He put his arm around him, enjoying the feel of the smaller, more slender body against him. He'd slept with other human races before, Bretons and Imperials, even a few Redguards, but mostly Nords, and yet something about Edric's height and build was just right. And there was that wonderful smell again.

Feeling and hearing a sniff in his hair, Edric murmured, "He always told me I smelled good too, but he could never describe it exactly."

"Yeah. I wonder what it is." Edric grunted, and Farkas couldn't help thinking that Edric knew exactly what it was. "Not that it matters," he added carefully. Edric could keep his secrets, if it made him feel safer. Farkas would just have to earn his trust and get everything out of him bit by bit, until Farkas knew the whole story. There was a whole hell of a lot to it, that was for sure. Edric was someone important. Someone special. Farkas could only hope that someone like that would find someone like him worthy of courtship someday. With any luck someday soon.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, neither saying anything, then Edric softly said, "This is nice."

"Mm-hm. We probably should go back though. It's got to be after midnight." Edric sighed and nodded, shifting away from Farkas, whose arm fell away. As Edric stood it was all Farkas could do not to sniff after him, but he'd already embarrassed himself enough for one night. Edric gathered up his weapons and Farkas stood and raised his arms over his head to stretch, and he was gratified to see Edric watching him discreetly. It was a start. He picked up his great-sword and slung the baldric over his head. "I heard you have a sparring match with Skjor tomorrow."

"Yeah, should be interesting. I haven't sparred in a long time. I might be a little out of practice, so this'll be good for me."

"I'm surprised my brother hasn't challenged you yet."

Farkas could practically hear Edric rolling his eyes as they started walking back toward the city. "He's probably waiting until he gets a better feel for my abilities. You can bet he'll be front and center tomorrow afternoon. Probably feeling pissy as hell over me working with Ria."

"Probably," Farkas admitted with regret. He supposed it had been naïve of him to expect his twin to like Edric when Vilkas hardly liked anyone anymore. Vilkas didn't even like himself. Still, it would've been nice if they got along. Maybe someday they would be brothers-in-law, and then they'd have to get along.

"Aw hell, my rabbit!" Edric suddenly exclaimed. He turned back.

"Huh? Oh. That. It was just a rabbit," Farkas said in embarrassment.

"It was a gift. From you. I'd like to have it."

Farkas smiled broadly at him then went with him to help him find it, though he had to resort to sniffing it out in the dark. His heart sang when Edric clapped his hands together once in delight when Farkas found it. He held it out to Edric, who knelt down and quickly and skillfully dressed it out.

"I'm going to keep the fur, and Tilma could use the meat," Edric stated. "It's a nice coney."

"It is," Farkas said in agreement. Edric slung the rabbit over his shoulder and they headed back, and all Farkas could think about was that this was how it could be all the time. A mate to hunt at his side and lounge with in the grass, one who was not only beautiful but strong and smart. Edric was perfect for Farkas in every way, he just knew it. Sometimes people were just lucky and found the one person in the world who completed them. Farkas had never imagined he would, but now that he had he'd do anything at all to keep him. Anything.

* * *

_**A/N: The second part of this chapter was my mini tribute to just about the most heartbreaking line I've ever heard in a movie: "I'm not a smart man, but I know what love is." Farkas is no Forrest Gump, but, well, there you go.**_

_**While I'm being disgustingly sappy, the second part of the chapter was also inspired by Bob Dylan's 'Make You Feel My Love' done by Bryan Ferry. The song is overdone, I know, but still fitting.**_


	11. Chapter 11

**Vilkas – 29th of Heartfire, 4E205**

Irritably rubbing the remains of sleep from his eyes, Vilkas headed upstairs to catch a quick bite to eat. He had overslept, again, after a miserable night of tossing and turning. He couldn't have gotten more than a few hours sleep altogether, too riled about knowing his brother was out with Edric. It made Vilkas furious that a whelp had been allowed through the Underforge and then allowed to see a member of the Circle transform and hunt. It was unconscionable, and what was even worse was that Skjor had put his seal of approval on the matter.

Vilkas growled in rage as he saw Edric holding open the back door for Ria, both dressed in light leather training armor. His hunger forgotten, he stormed through the hall then outside, and when Ria saw him she squealed in fright and moved behind Edric. The young man gazed at him calmly, a complete lack of concern in his green eyes. Cocky. Arrogant. Disrespectful. _Insolent._ Vilkas said through gritted teeth, "It isn't enough you steal my brother, but you have to steal my student as well?" He heard sounds of concern from the others outside, Aela and Athis practicing small blades. Torvar was nowhere to be seen, but Njada looked up from the training dummy she was whacking with a look of wicked delight.

Edric stated, "I wasn't aware that Farkas and Ria weren't allowed to make their own choices." Vilkas practically ground his teeth, his fists clenched. "I have no quarrel with you, Vilkas. It isn't personal. Whatever is or isn't between me and Farkas is private. He's a grown man and can do whatever he wants without clearing it with you first. Ria's a full Companion and can train with whomever she likes, again, without the need to clear it with you." Vilkas bared his teeth and snarled.

"Edric," Ria whispered in terror.

"Vilkas!" Aela barked. He ignored her and closed in on Edric, sending Ria running with a shriek.

Edric stood his ground and warned Vilkas, "I will _hurt_ you, Vilkas. I don't care how much bigger you are than me, I will lay you out flat."

"You don't have it in you," Vilkas growled. "You're nothing but a little yapping dog. A crowing little rooster."

"I can tell you didn't sleep well. It wouldn't be a fair—" Vilkas threw himself at the smaller man, swinging at him, and Edric ducked and shouted, "I mean it! I don't want to hurt you!" Vilkas came at him again, and Edric sighed and darted in and slugged the Companion in the gut with his right, doubling him over, then he swung with his left and cracked Vilkas in the cheek, sending him to his knees.

Vilkas shook his head in an attempt to clear it, and he saw Aela's boots come into his field of vision. In double. He convulsed slightly as he felt a wave of nausea from his aching gut while his jaw throbbed, then soothing relief flowed into him in the form of yellow light. He surged to his feet, glaring hatefully at Edric, while a tiny part of his mind marveled at how freakishly strong the smaller man was. And somehow, _somehow_ he knew that Edric had pulled his punches. "What the fuck are you!" he hissed. Edric didn't answer, staring at his left hand with a look of confusion, obviously in pain, as if he hadn't heard Vilkas at all. Vilkas' anger faltered as Edric raised both his hands and they glowed yellow, and instead of the magic swirling around Edric's body it stayed gathered in his hands, as if it had nowhere to go. The magic died as Edric slowly lowered his hands then began massaging the left with his right, looking deeply worried, then his expression went blank as he raised his eyes to Vilkas'.

Aela stepped between the two men, breaking the mutual stare, and she poked a finger into her shield-brother's chest then pointed behind him at the mead hall. Vilkas growled quietly then turned away and went inside, hearing Aela follow, and once they were inside the doors she caught his shoulder and leaned close.

"You are dangerously close to being judged again by the Circle," she whispered angrily. "I know where to find plenty of cages that are designed to hold feral werewolves, brother. Don't make us haul one into the Underforge to keep you in." A chill went up Vilkas' spine, and he nodded as he folded his arms. "Edric could have left you there on the ground. I would have. Whatever quarrel you have with him, you had better resolve it while you two are on the road."

"There will be no resolution as long as my idiot brother is infatuated with him."

Aela sneered at him. "Did you at some point carve your name into Farkas' ass when I wasn't looking? Or Ria's? How is it Edric's fault Farkas is sweet on him? I don't like the idea of shield-siblings carrying on any more than you do, believe me, but each man and woman here is their own. Kodlak would tell you the same. Any of us would." She snorted then added, "And have you looked at him? It's like Dibella—"

"Farkas promised me," Vilkas said in a near hiss, cutting her off. "He made me a promise and now he's breaking it."

"What promise?"

"A promise about our future. He's…violating it, by fixating on that…that _person_ out there." He didn't know what else to call Edric. Most of the time he seemed very much a man, but then every so often he would move a certain way, speak a certain way, and that hair… It was confusing as hell.

Aela put her hands on her hips, her tongue in her cheek. "Uh huh. When did you two make that promise, when you were twelve? Grow the fuck up, Vilkas." She turned on her heel and shoved the back door open, going back out to the yard.

"Bitch," he growled. He went to the table and threw himself into a chair, seething. No, the twins hadn't been twelve, they'd been in their early twenties, and promises didn't have time limits on them, unless you specifically put them there, and the twins hadn't. Vilkas hadn't anyway, and he supposed Farkas had never really had a lot to say about the matter except _Sure Vilkas._ He would nod in that amiable way of his and agree to whatever Vilkas said, and now Vilkas had to wonder if his brother had ever really meant it. Had to wonder if Farkas had agreed all along just to keep Vilkas off his back, while he went on behind the scenes doing whatever he wanted and bedding only men all this time and living some kind of weird double life.

As he was eating he heard his brother's heavy steps come up the stairs, then they paused briefly, no doubt upon seeing Vilkas hunched over his plate, then continued on their way outside. Farkas was probably going out there to say good morning to his little sweetheart. The big oaf was no doubt quite happy this morning, after going out for a hunt last night with pretty boy and doing gods knew what else out there. He'd heard Farkas come back well after midnight. He had to admit though that Farkas had gone to bed alone. He'd heard only a single set of footsteps going to Farkas' room. But maybe it was just because he and Edric had done it out on the plains, rutting like a couple of animals in the grass. Farkas had only a single bed in his room. There was really no reason for any of the Circle to have a double bed, as Skjor and Vilkas did, as it was frowned upon to bring bedmates back to Jorrvaskr. Well how convenient for Farkas that his bedmate lived here.

Vilkas clenched his fists, and he felt the wolf ring cutting into his hand. He ran his thumb along the band, hating it with a passion. It was a collar. A leash, bringing his wolf to heel. And doing a shitty job of it. He was glad to not have the added worry of fearing an involuntary change, but his mood was so constantly foul and his stress levels so high that every day was nearly intolerable, and he feared that one day it would grow to the point where he would voluntarily change and hurt someone. He grudgingly admitted that Ria was within her rights to find another trainer, and he admitted his behavior a little bit ago toward the newblood had been unwarranted. If Kodlak found out the old man would rip Vilkas a new one, protective of Edric as the Harbinger was. And Skjor was. And Aela was. Everyone just _loved_ adorable little Edric, except for Torvar and Vilkas. Even Njada had become somewhat tolerant of the whelp. Vilkas wondered if it should bother him that he and Torvar were in such exclusive company.

Feeling a twinge of embarrassment that cooled his temper, Vilkas finished eating then went back to his room and closed himself inside and began to pace, his nerves frayed. He had no idea at all how he was going to manage being on a job with Edric. The knowledge that Edric was aware of Vilkas' nature was only a small comfort. He was expected to stay back and simply observe how Edric carried himself and completed the mission, providing backup only when needed. Most newbloods needed quite a bit of backup. Edric obviously would not. Vilkas supposed watching Edric's match against Skjor this afternoon would show him just how little.

**Farkas**

"I wish you could use Vilkas' training sword," Farkas said with regret. He was standing by Edric as the younger man looked over the weapons rack, deciding what to use in his match against Skjor. It was turning out to be more than either had expected as all the Companions assembled outside, even Kodlak demanding to be assisted out onto the porch to watch, bundled against the crisp weather. It had rained early in the morning, and again at lunch, so it was wet out here, but the air was fresh and Tilma thought it would be good for him. Even Eorlund and Avulstein had stopped their work and were sitting at the edge of the Skyforge overlooking the yard.

"Nah, I think I'm going sword-and-shield for this one, same as Skjor," Edric answered. "Keep things evenly matched. Though he's going to have the edge today. I'm pretty out of practice for this sort of thing." He went through several combinations before settling on one he was satisfied with, and when he turned back to look at everyone he muttered, "Nothing like keeping it low key."

"Well, this is pretty exciting for everyone. Word really got around about you besting Vilkas in the yard during your test."

"I wish it hadn't."

Farkas didn't answer, hearing the resentment in Edric's voice. Aela had told Farkas right away about the incident this morning, how Vilkas had attacked Edric and the smaller man had knocked him down without any effort. Farkas had seen his twin sulking at the table but hadn't realized why at the time. And now his twin was sitting at Kodlak's side, helping Tilma wrap warm furs around the Harbinger, who was squinting against the light outside, gray as it was. Farkas couldn't remember the last time the old man had come upstairs to the mead hall, let alone come outside. Everyone was happy to see him out here, but it only highlighted how terribly thin and frail he was. Farkas feared that he was deteriorating even more quickly than anyone realized. Farkas feared Kodlak wouldn't even live to see the turning of the year and the New Life festival. Though it hadn't been much of a festival the last four years with only a dead tree to dance around. Hardly anyone had even bothered dancing last year. It had been kind of depressing, actually, with the vampires still causing problems back then too; everyone had been afraid to be out at night for fear of an attack. Well, the Gildergreen was still dead, but at least there were no more vampires beyond the occasional small coven that needed rooting out.

Unaware of Farkas' thoughts, Edric softly went on, "I just want to get along. With Vilkas, I mean. Fuck Torvar, he can go to Oblivion for all I care, but…Vilkas is your brother."

"That makes me happy to hear that," Farkas murmured back. "I swear my brother isn't a bad person. His beast, it…it's tearing him apart."

"I know. I know he isn't really a bad person. I can tell, no matter how he tries to hide it." He put the sword on his shoulder and went on, "Kodlak feels he's close to finding a cure. He had Skjor bring down another batch of books from the archives up at Dragonsreach. Old journals and such."

Farkas nodded, aware of that. Jorrvaskr had nowhere to keep a library, and so the Companions had always kept their records up at the palace by arrangement with an endless succession of Jarls, but only the Companions had the key; not every Jarl had known what the Circle was. Not every Jarl could be trusted. Vignar knew; he would have been a member of the Circle but had been nearly sixty when he returned to Jorrvaskr, and people that age just didn't survive the initial transformation. Sometimes even younger folk didn't.

Edric continued, "I know being cured won't solve the fundamental problem of his temperament, but it would help with how he reacts to everything. It's as if he's seeing threats everywhere that don't exist. Or exaggerating them, rather. I want to get along with him. Especially if…well."

Farkas bit his lip against a warm smile, unable to help a small, goofy sound from slipping out, one that he didn't think he had ever made before. Edric laughed quietly, gazing up at him with sparkling eyes, his sweet mouth quirked into a little smile. At that moment Farkas found it impossible to believe that Edric wouldn't end up deciding to leave himself open to courtship. Edric's final little comment had made it clear that he was seriously considering it. He wanted to get along with Vilkas because Vilkas might someday be his brother by marriage.

"You're too handsome for your own good," Edric said in amusement. "Or mine," he added with a wink as he turned away.

_Merciful Mara,_ Farkas thought in desperation as he watched Edric walk away, the tip of his braid swinging enticingly just above his tight little backside, clad in leather. Edric had said Farkas was handsome. He'd winked at him, where everyone could see it.

Farkas glanced at the porch where everyone was gathered, and everyone's eyes were on Edric and Skjor meeting in the open courtyard. Everyone's eyes but Vilkas'. His twin's silver eyes were on Farkas, sullen and resentful. Hurt. Well damn if he was going to feel guilty about it. Kodlak's words from yesterday still rang in him, the old man wondering if Vilkas viewed Farkas as an extension of himself and not really his own person. Farkas couldn't help thinking that his brother honestly did think he was too stupid to make his own choices, as if he didn't have the brains to make valid decisions for himself like any other adult. Farkas knew that Jergen had told Vilkas to take care of Farkas, but they were just kids at the time. How the hell could Farkas be a member of the Circle if he wasn't competent enough to take care of himself? How could Vilkas think Farkas would be a proper husband and father to a wife and children if he couldn't even make his own choices? Maybe Vilkas thought he would oversee all that too.

Kodlak nudged Vilkas with his elbow and he pulled his gaze away from Farkas' scowl. Farkas grumbled and went to the porch and took a seat on a bench at the outdoor table, across from Athis, who lifted a single red eyebrow at him enquiringly. Farkas grunted and leaned his elbow on the table, hoping his cheeks weren't as flushed as they felt. He wasn't ashamed of his love for Edric, but it wasn't as if he wanted everyone to make it their business.

Skjor and Edric walked out to the center of the training yard, and the old one-eyed warrior greeted Edric with a Legionnaire's salute. Edric returned it solemnly then the two men walked about ten feet apart and readied themselves. Farkas had never seen Skjor salute anyone like that before. Ever. And Edric had taken it seriously. It was easy to forget about the time both men had spent in the Legion, fighting for the Empire. Skjor didn't seem to hold Edric's being a Stormcloak against him. Skjor had always disliked talking about the Great War and had had little to say about the civil war other than a rather vague comment about there being no honor in the squabbling of Jarls.

The sound of both men charging at each other with a roared Nord battle cry made Ria let out a peep of fear before she covered it, and Athis shuddered, though both managed to not flee from the terrifying sound. The shout rang off the stone walls, soon followed by the clash of swords and shields. Farkas leaned forward and watched intently as all the Companions did, even Tilma. Edric looked much smaller than Skjor, shorter and lighter, but it made him fast as hell. He probably would have been a bit slower if fighting with his preferred great-sword, but even then he would have been faster than Skjor. From what Farkas could tell it was equal parts youth, size and skill. Even with those advantages, Edric had to defend himself against Skjor's four decades of experience and training, and to Farkas' eyes the match was a fairly even one.

The fight wound on with neither warrior poised for a decisive win. Edric got in more hits but none would have been a death blow, and he took a few on the limbs and found himself on the defensive as often as he was on the offensive. Njada, Aela, Ria and Athis were on their feet halfway through, yelling encouragement to either side as the mood took them, while the twins and Kodlak watched intently. Farkas glanced at Torvar once and saw the man sober and withdrawn. It was fairly obvious that he was going to conveniently forget about his challenge to Edric after watching this. It was also a fairly good guess that he was going to keep his big mouth shut after this too.

The two warriors were clearly exhausted after nearly fifteen minutes of neither gaining an advantage, Skjor breathing heavily and probably very glad that they weren't in heavy armor, Edric's eyes intense as he looked for any opening at all to end this. Farkas felt his heart go into his throat as Edric suddenly slipped on a wet cobblestone, and Skjor quickly moved in. Then everyone gasped as Edric dove and rolled, coming up behind Skjor and hitting him across the back of his knees, making them buckle, then rolled to his feet and bashed the older warrior in the back of the head with his shield, causing him to stumble. He then shoved the sword into the other man's ribs then brought his sword down across the back of Skjor's neck, stopping short of the actual blow, one that would have resulted in decapitation in a real fight with edged weapons.

"I yield," Skjor said breathlessly. "Shit." He let his sword and shield fall to the ground and leaned over, panting, his hands on his knees. Edric blew out a long breath as he withdrew his sword and tucked it under his arm to rub his sleeve across his sweaty forehead. Skjor looked sideways at him and grinned. "You sneaky son of a bitch."

"Not sure what you mean," Edric replied, a grin of his own spreading over his face. He offered Skjor his hand and the other man readily took it, giving it a shake then pulling him into an embrace. They slapped each other on the back then let go, and Edric cast a spell of healing. The glow enveloped Skjor and he drew in a deep breath then nodded his thanks.

Farkas got up as most of the others rushed over to congratulate Edric on his narrow win and Skjor on his skill while Eorlund and his son whistled loudly and clapped in appreciation then went back to work. Edric was obviously still in some pain, and he shouldn't have been. Farkas had seen people healed plenty of times, and the glow should have enveloped his entire body. Instead it had wrapped around Skjor but had done nothing at all for Edric.

He glanced over at Kodlak and the Harbinger, and Kodlak was frowning deeply, with obvious concern. Vilkas was also frowning, but as if he was puzzled. Edric stared at his hands as if they were someone else's then let them fall and set his expression to one of deliberate unconcern. Aela put her hand on his shoulder and he gave her a twitch of a smile.

Skjor lightly hit Edric in the chest with the back of his hand and said, "I don't know about you, but I could use a drink, whelp."

"Yeah, me too," Edric replied. "I'll be there in a bit."

The others headed inside, and Farkas went to Edric and patted him on the upper arm, Aela still standing there with her hand on him. "That was amazing," he stated honestly. "I don't think I've ever seen a fight quite like it." Edric nodded, looking troubled, and Aela was gazing at the young man with concern. Farkas lowered his voice and said to him, "You're still hurt." Edric didn't deny it, his brow furrowed.

"Damn it, I knew it," Aela muttered. She grabbed Edric by the shoulders and was about to speak when she made a sound of surprise and leaned close to him, giving him a sniff. "What…on _Nirn_ is that smell?" she breathed.

"Great," Edric drawled. He gently brushed off her hands then backed up a few steps. He made a sound of pain and rotated his left shoulder then let his arm fall.

Farkas huffed in worry, about to ask what was wrong when he saw Edric go still, staring past him. He turned and saw Vilkas staring intently at Edric, like a predator. Kodlak gripped Vilkas' arm and Vilkas ignored him, and it wasn't until Tilma smacked Vilkas on top of the head that he finally tore his gaze away from Edric to help her get Kodlak inside. Farkas shook his head, having neither the patience nor the energy to care what his twin's problem was this time.

He turned back to Edric and quietly asked him, "Isn't your healing working?" Edric grimaced, hesitating, then he curtly shook his head. "Aw shit. Why? How's that possible?" Edric swallowed, looking pale, his eyes haunted-looking, and Farkas moved closer to him and whispered, "Edric…this is bad." It was terrifying.

"Very bad," Aela agreed in a mutter. "If healing spells won't work, potions might not either." She asked Edric, "When was the last time healing worked for you? By yourself or someone else?"

Edric swallowed hard and mumbled, "The middle of Midyear. I haven't been wounded since then."

When he offered nothing else Aela prompted, "Well? Do you know why it isn't working now?"

"Yes." She motioned with her hand for him to spit it out, and he whispered, "You can't tell Vilkas. Please. He might use it against me. Skjor's okay, but…Kodlak would worry. I wouldn't get any more jobs."

"Vilkas won't hear it from me," Aela swore. "I very well could see that mad dog using against you. You do understand how vulnerable you are, right?"

"He isn't a mad dog," Farkas said in defense of his twin.

"Do you or don't you think he might use this to his advantage?"

Farkas said in exasperation, "I think he already knows. He was watching Edric like a hawk. He could see as easy as any of us that it wasn't working. Kodlak saw it too." Edric made a sound of dismay, rubbing his shoulder, and Farkas moved next to him and began gently massaging the joint, feeling Edric tense then begin to relax under the touch. He felt good under Farkas' hand, more muscular than he looked, body heat radiating from him like an oven from the exertion of the fight. He smelled so good with leather and sweat and spice that it was all Farkas could do to focus on what Aela was saying.

Aela raised her eyebrows at the two men then rolled her eyes, giving up. "Tell us why it isn't working anymore," she demanded. "Magical healing."

Edric licked his lips, hesitating, and when Aela poked him in the ribs he made a sound of aggravation then stated, "I had to see a special healer. Back in Midyear. I…I took some really bad injuries last year. At the end of the war. Ones I couldn't fix on my own. This healer, she spent days working on me, I don't even remember how long it was, but it was…it was really fucking painful, but when she was done I was all better, except for a few patches on my face and the one on my nose. She said…she told me my body was rejecting her magic. That sometimes people who've been healed too much develop a resistance to it. She said…I was the worst mess she'd ever seen and she was amazed I was able to take as much as I did before it stopped working. I thought…I thought it was temporary. I mean, I'm a decent healer but I'm not a master. I'd never heard of such a thing."

Farkas shivered fearfully, and Aela was staring at Edric with a look of horror on her face. "What in Oblivion happened to warrant all that?" she asked in disbelief.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

Aela sputtered and shook her head, and she looked around then turned on her heel and walked over to the porch, where a few healing potions were always kept, in case a training session sent awry. She grabbed a minor one and took it over to Edric and shoved it into his hands. "Drink up." He willingly did so, his hands trembling slightly, and when he downed the whole thing it had as much effect as a mug of ale. "Shit."

Edric looked up at Farkas and whispered, "What am I going to do next year? I _have_ to go."

"Go where?" Aela demanded. Edric wouldn't answer her, still staring up at Farkas, and Farkas stared back with glistening eyes. Aela growled angrily and put her fingertips to her temples, closing her eyes. "One of you better start coming clean with me or I'm going to knock your goddamn heads together." Edric blinked in shock as he looked at her.

"Uh, the war," Farkas muttered. "He's supposed to go to war next spring. With King Ulfric. Against the Aldmeri Dominion." The thought had been bad before, but this...this made him want to cry. If Edric went to war he would die, and that was that. Farkas had taken wounds on the job many a time that could have killed him without healing potions handy, but war was so far beyond that it wasn't funny. Thousands and thousands of elves, months or years of war, and no way to heal? It was a death sentence.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?" Aela exclaimed. The back door opened and Skjor was coming outside, two bottles of mead in his hands. She waved her hand at him insistently, and he rolled his eye and came over. When he was about ten feet away she said in a loud whisper, "The pup here can't take magical healing anymore!" Edric made a scoffing sound of offense at the term and Skjor's eyebrows rose as his expression turned to disbelief. "You didn't notice that his healing didn't take when he healed you? The glow didn't extend to him. I just handed him a potion and it did nothing. He can't go out on jobs with that kind of handicap! And now he's talking about going off to war? He does that and he's a dead man!"

Edric stated, "My staying behind isn't an option, Aela. It's non-negotiable."

"Look, we're all very impressed with your skill, whelp, and I'm not being sarcastic about it either. But you're just one man, and if you go to war against elves and can't heal yourself you're going to _die._ If you can't see that you're about as sharp as ice brain here." Edric's lips pursed as he stared at her and Farkas grumbled.

"I have other skills. Ones that kept me from taking a single scratch through most of the civil war and the entire Battle of Solitude."

"Yeah? Well I haven't seen them."

Skjor stepped in, saying to Aela, "If Edric says he can protect himself then he can. I know the skills he speaks of, and so does Kodlak. He chooses not to use those skills out of deference to our traditions here."

The corner of Aela's lip curled. "Oh, I see. So he's a mage? That would've been nice to know!"

Edric sighed tiredly and grabbed the full bottle of mead from Skjor. "I'm not a mage-mage," Edric stated.

"Have you studied at the College of Winterhold?" Edric refused to answer, taking a long drink from the bottle. Aela huffed in exasperation and looked up at Farkas, who glared back defensively.

"It doesn't matter if he knows magic," Farkas stated.

Edric added, "Besides, I find your concerns ironic considering what you guys are. At least my existence isn't an executable offense." Aela folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at him while Skjor snorted and took a drink of his own. "I promised the old man when I came here that I wouldn't use any school of magic other than Restoration while I was here or operating as a Companion, unless I felt it truly necessary. I promised Farkas pretty much the same last night. But that was before finding this out. If I have to choose between using magic or ending up crippled…well, what would you choose?"

Aela stared at him with pursed lips, seeming to think it over, then she reluctantly said, "Hm, all right then. But you'd better be damn desperate." She smirked at the young man and asked, "So, just what were you doing last night with Farkas?"

"I guarded him while he hunted out on the plains. I kept my eyes closed going through the Underforge, going and coming, on my honor. I kept watch while he changed and did his thing, in case the Silver Hand was around again."

Aela and Skjor glanced at each other, then the older warrior asked, "And what did you think, lad?"

Edric shrugged. "Interesting. Not particularly scary after the things I've seen, but interesting." He smiled and gently elbowed Farkas in the ribs. "Seemed like the big guy was having fun though, eh?"

Farkas laughed, blushing slightly, and when he glanced at Aela and Skjor they were giving each other another weird look, but at least they couldn't see Farkas' embarrassment. A good kind of embarrassment. Edric's smile faded as his brow furrowed in pain again, and Farkas murmured to him in concern, "Is it your shoulder?"

"I took a whack to it. Just bruises here and there everywhere else, but it ah, aches sometimes. My left side." Skjor's gaze turned subdued, and Edric met it for a moment then sighed and looked up at Farkas again. "I'm going to go in and sit by the fire for a while. I'm heading out with the most charming soul in Tamriel in the morning, so better to rest up now."

Aela smirked and said, "You could always lay him out again if he gets mouthy."

"Yeah, well, knowing what I do now, I'm gonna need to have an extremely good reason for it. My hand still hurts. I'm lucky I didn't break it on that iron jaw of his."

Farkas frowned and suggested, "Maybe you should wait a few days, until you feel better." He hated the idea of Edric heading out on a job still sore from a fight. Even the Companions didn't leave Whiterun compromised. And while it hurt to think it, Farkas didn't totally trust his brother anymore. Especially when it came to Edric. Vilkas wouldn't let him die, but he might end up waiting just a bit too long to step in, and Edric could get wounded to the point of being crippled, now that they knew that not even potions worked on him.

Edric waved him off. "Nah. I've fought through a hell of a lot worse than this."

Skjor counseled a grave tone, "You had better be damn careful from here on out, lad. This changes things."

Aela added, "You need to tell Vilkas up front that you're vulnerable. He'll back you up so you can avoid using magic."

Edric gazed at her for a moment then said in an intense voice, "When I made my promise to Kodlak about not using magic I didn't know I could no longer heal. I'll do everything in my power to honor the Companions and their traditions, but I'll be damned if I end up…" He curtly shook his head. "If Vilkas judges me because I have to use magic to save my hide, so be it. The Companions need me a hell of a lot more than I need them."

Aela sputtered in disbelief as she watched Edric walk away, and she didn't bother waiting until he was out of earshot to exclaim, "Well he thinks he's special, doesn't he!"

"Because he is," Farkas stated with utter conviction, watching his beloved go inside Jorrvaskr. Edric was the most special person in the world. After watching him fight Skjor, Farkas knew that more than ever. No one had beat Skjor in a fight in more years than anyone could remember.

"Yes, we all know how special _you_ think—"

"Kodlak gave us his blessing," he said in aggravation.

"He what?!" Aela and Skjor both said in shock.

Farkas ignored his embarrassment and stated firmly, "He said I should stop letting Vilkas boss me around and make my decisions for me. He told me I should be myself, who I want to be, not what Vilkas wants me to be. I told him I…" He took a deep breath. "I'm in love with Edric, and Kodlak gave me his blessing to court him."

Aela stared open-mouthed at her pack brother, and Skjor whispered faintly, "I'll be damned."

"When I was hunting I killed a rabbit for him as a gift and he liked it and kept it," Farkas said in a proud tone. Skjor rubbed his forehead and sighed while Aela kept staring, speechless. "I told him I wanted to court him and wanted him to give me the chance to make things better for him, and he said he would think about it until the 13th of Frostfall." Skjor's hand slowly came down, and Farkas' tone turned slightly pleading as he quietly said, "He told me some awful things. Edric, I mean. Last night. He said he hadn't planned to come back from the war. He misses his man so much that he planned to finish the war then let the elves send him to Sovngarde. I can't let that happen. I have to give him a reason to come back. A reason to live."

The Huntress looked troubled, her mouth closing. "He had someone?" she asked.

"He said they were together for three years. The guy, I don't know his name, he died in the Battle of Solitude."

"That's too bad," she said sincerely. "However you know the Circle's stance on relationships within the guild. And if you were paying attention when we all met the other night you know that Edric could end up being a candidate for the Circle if he passes his Trial." She snorted and added, "As if there's any doubt of that. After what I saw a bit ago? The only reason he won't pass his Trial is if Vilkas really is beyond redemption."

"Aela," Farkas growled in warning.

"You didn't see what I did in the yard this morning. Vilkas wouldn't listen. Edric didn't want to fight him, tried to reason with him, and Vilkas went after him like a rabid dog. And the whelp still had the grace to heal the bastard after he dropped him. I would've left him on his knees with his ears ringing." She poked Farkas' chest and said, "I warned your brother that he is going to end up in a cage if he doesn't start doing a better job of reining himself in. He got my point. But if he loses it while he's with Edric on his Trial, well, maybe we should put a cage in the Underforge, just in case."

Skjor shook his head and said, "I don't think that's necessary just yet."

"It isn't at all," Farkas said with anxiety. "Vilkas isn't that far gone."

"He attacked Edric for no reason!" Aela stated. "He scared the shit out of poor little Ria. She won't even look at Vilkas now. If Edric hadn't calmed her down after Vilkas went inside the entire morning's training would have been ruined." She folded her arms and said to Skjor, "The whelp is a good trainer. Patient, and his skill goes without saying. Vilkas used to be a good trainer, but if he can't be salvaged then someone needs to take his place. We'll already need someone to take Kodlak's place in the Circle when he goes."

"Yes, I know that," Skjor said, "and I agree that it should be Edric, but—"

"But ice brain here needs to drop his fantasies of marrying the whelp first. Members of the Circle do not marry or mate permanently to each other, and if the whelp takes the blood they'll end up bonding."

Farkas protested, "Kodlak said that members of the Circle have married before. He said it wasn't ideal but he said I should follow my heart and take care of Edric. He gave me his blessing, Aela!"

"Maybe the old man is getting addled." Farkas growled while Skjor grunted and shook his head, and she waved her hand at the big man. "Look at you! You hardly know him and you've lost all common sense. I understand that he's handsome. I'm not blind. And I understand now why you were sniffing his bedroll. I don't know what that smell is but it's…intoxicating. That's why you need to stay away from him."

"No, I won't stay away," he said in refusal. "He's the one I want and that's the end of it." Aela fumed. "The reason we aren't supposed to bond with each other is to avoid jealousy. Edric and me are the only ones that go that way, so what does it matter if we mate?" He looked at Skjor. "What does it matter?" Skjor's lips pursed thoughtfully, and Farkas went on, "Kodlak knows that Edric needs me, and Edric knows it too. Edric telling me last night that he was going to let the elves kill him was his way of asking for help. He told me to give him a reason not to. And don't you two dare tell anyone."

Aela's irritation subsided as she looked thoughtful, and Skjor promised, "Aela and I will keep it to ourselves, brother. You have our word."

"Aye," Aela agreed with reluctance. She folded her arms and tapped her chin with one finger thoughtfully. "So he wasn't afraid at all, last night? Not even when you changed?"

"Not at all," Farkas said with a shrug. "He even petted me, right after. I uh, got kind of, um, grabby with him, when I brought him the rabbit, but he wasn't afraid. He told me to let him know when I want to go out again and he'll go with me." Farkas just hoped that next time he would be able to control himself a little better, while knowing he wouldn't. He got one whiff of Edric and lost what little sense he had in that form. "He seemed really interested in what it was like, being a werewolf. Asked me all kinds of questions on the way back. How it felt, how we think when we're like that. State of mind, that's what he said. He wanted to know how we think and feel when we're changed."

Aela and Skjor looked at each other for a moment, then the Huntress asked Farkas, "Do you think he would take the blood, if he joined the Circle?"

"Maybe." While he knew his twin would be furious about it, Farkas couldn't help guiltily hoping Edric did. Then he and Farkas could bond to each other and never chance losing each other. Edric would be his forever and no one would ever come between them. Even Vilkas wouldn't be able to then. Mating bonds between werewolves were forever and only death could sever them. It was why they were always so careful in forming them, or not. Edric though, he was the only one Farkas wanted, forever.

Skjor said, "You realize, don't you, that was probably why he was asking? I want Edric to become our brother in blood more than I've wanted anything in more years than I can measure, but would he be doing it for the right reasons?"

"What does it matter?"Aela countered. "The pack needs another strong hunter. Edric is small but fierce. If he thinks taking the blood would give him an escape and lessen his grief, how is that wrong? There are worse reasons, Skjor." Skjor nodded, conceding that. Aela smirked up at Farkas and said, "Who knows, if he joins the pack before spring it might add some spice to our little yearly romp."

Farkas' eyes went wide as he contemplated the possibilities there, then he felt his face flushing as he muttered, "I've gotta go." He heard Aela snicker and Skjor chuckle as he turned away. He heard them murmuring quietly to each other, lower than he could pick up. Well they could keep their secrets, even if they were talking about Edric the way he knew they were. Farkas halfway hoped that he and Edric could find some way of just not being around when Aela's season came next spring. The thought of sharing his beloved wasn't an entirely pleasant one, though instinct would override a lot of things, and it was just one night. Farkas had to wonder though if it would even have any effect on either him or Edric if they were bonded by then. Kodlak wouldn't last more than another two months, and Edric might join the Circle by time the new year rolled around.

He went inside Jorrvaskr and at first didn't see Edric anywhere, but when he heard animated talk on the other side of the fire pit he went to the table and looked over it. Ria and Athis were sitting on the floor on either side of Edric, Njada on Athis' other side. Edric was talking about the month he'd spent living in Dushnikh Yal as Blood-Kin to the orcs, and the three junior members were riveted to his tale, even Njada, sitting cross-legged with her chin in her palm. Edric was sitting with his left side to the fire, rubbing his shoulder, which Farkas couldn't help worrying about. Edric was left-handed, and if his left shoulder and hand were bothering him it could cause problems. Ria was sitting close to him, nearly touching, and the sight was sweet. The little Nibenese girl clearly trusted Edric after this morning, which was good. She was also well aware of Edric's orientation, or so Farkas thought. Well after the 13th of Frostfall there would be no doubt in anyone's mind about it.

Edric looked up at Farkas then smiled slightly, and Farkas sighed and smiled back, feeling his heart clench at how striking his beloved's face looked in the firelight. It hardly seemed real that someone so perfect might be his someday soon. Surely Edric would be. He wouldn't smile at Farkas like that if he didn't want to be.

Ria's smothered giggle broke Farkas out of his reverie, and Edric dropped his eyes with a soft laugh and gave her a gentle nudge with his elbow. Farkas huffed in embarrassment and walked away, heading downstairs to see if Vilkas and Tilma needed help with Kodlak.

He found the two tucking the Harbinger back into bed, just finishing, Kodlak coughing and Vilkas muttering that he shouldn't have gone outside. Kodlak looked up at Farkas and the big man gave him a brief smile, then Vilkas looked over his shoulder at his twin and glared at him.

"This was a terrible idea," Vilkas said in a tense voice.

"Why? It's what Kodlak wanted," Farkas replied with a shrug.

"It made his cough worse."

Tilma clucked her tongue and said, "Now boys, no bickering. He's still our Harbinger, and it was a good fight."

Kodlak wheezed, "That it was. Ah, I wouldn't have missed it for anything." He coughed into the blood-splattered kerchief then whispered, "I've never seen two warriors so evenly matched. It reminds me yet again that Skjor is the best of us." He pulled the covers up to his chin, clutching the red-stained cloth in his hand. "How are Edric's injuries?" Farkas' eyes slid over to Vilkas, who had a suddenly intense look in his own eyes as he stared at his twin. Kodlak muttered with deep worry, "His healing isn't working is it? Not on himself." Farkas hesitated, staring at his twin for a moment longer, then he pulled his gaze away and curtly shook his head.

"Oh dear," Tilma murmured. "I should go take a look. See if he needs a poultice."

"Thank you, Tilma," Kodlak whispered. The older woman hurried out of the room. He demanded of Farkas, "Tell me." Farkas glanced at Vilkas again, and the Harbinger said to Vilkas, "Would you give us a moment?"

"Why?" Vilkas asked, nearly spitting the word out. Kodlak's eyes narrowed, and Vilkas asked him, "Why can he not be discussed in front of me? Am I not to be trusted? I'm supposed to guard his back tomorrow, but I can't hear what you have to say about him? If he can't heal himself don't you think I should know that?"

Farkas growled, "Don't talk to the Harbinger in that tone. _Never_ talk to him that way."

"I'm sick of the secrets! Who the hell is Edric that he should even have any?"

"What does it matter? This is how he wants it. It's how Kodlak wants it. You don't see me pissing and moaning over it, and if you say it's 'cause I'm too stupid to wonder I'm going to put you into the fucking wall."

"Stop it," Kodlak demanded. "Both of you."

Vilkas protested, "Why should I? Will you have Aela put me in a cage as she threatened to do?" The moment the words were out of his mouth Vilkas blinked and took in a shaky breath, and Farkas bit his lip, seeing Kodlak's eyes widen as his nostrils flared furiously.

"Maybe I should," Kodlak muttered ominously. Vilkas shivered and lowered his eyes. Kodlak turned to Farkas and said, "Out with it."

Farkas said in a nervous tone, "Uh, Edric said it's because of all the healing he had this summer. The healer he saw told him he'd taken so much that his body won't respond to it anymore. Aela gave him a healing potion to try and it didn't do anything." Kodlak's eyes closed as he seemed to sink in on himself, and the reaction was so worrisome that it sent a thrill of anxiety through Farkas.

"What's wrong with him?" Vilkas asked. "Why did he need that much healing? I have never heard of such a thing, someone being unable to be healed."

Kodlak opened his eyes and stated, "That is Edric's business. Who and what Edric is has nothing to do with you, Vilkas."

"I would say it does if I have to back him up tomorrow with no way of healing him if things go wrong! Even we rely on potions!"

"After what you saw just now, are you truly worried that a few draugr are going to be able to touch him?"

"There are worse things than draugr about. I do not trust this supposed scholar that came to Skjor. Why would a fragment of Wuuthrad show up now, so close to Whiterun? It smells like a trap."

"So it may be," Kodlak agreed with a weak shrug of one shoulder. "Go into the Cairn with the mindset that it is and you will be fine."

"Of course I will be, because _Edric_ will be with me."

The snide remark made Farkas grit his teeth to not bark at his brother, and when his twin stormed out of the room Farkas kept silent. It seemed all Vilkas did was storm everywhere anymore. Vilkas _was_ a storm. It made Farkas' anger with his brother subside, replaced with sympathy. It would all be so much easier if Vilkas would just change once in a while, to let off some pressure. Farkas had started getting irritable after just two weeks, and he was fairly easy going. No way in hell he was going to go six months to a year at a time like Vilkas. Especially not now that he had Edric. Or nearly so.

Kodlak quietly asked, "How was your hunt last night?"

"Uh…okay," he answered apprehensively.

"Skjor told me you two were going out." Farkas sighed and nodded. "How did Edric take it?"

Farkas shrugged. "Fine. Not much scares him."

"True, very little does."

"I uh, talked to him. After I was done hunting. I…um, hunted him a rabbit. He liked it."

"Ah," Kodlak said with a chuckle.

"He wanted to know what the rabbit meant. He started pushing me and saying some things…" He wasn't about to say what either and upset the old man. "I decided to be honest and tell him I wanted to court him and that you said it was okay. I think it surprised him a little. Eh, a lot actually. He asked if he could think about it until after the 13th and I said yes." He took a deep breath then went on, "I think he'll let me. Since last night he's acted like he'll let me. But…I'm worried. I'm really worried about him, and…he seemed worried, after sparring with Skjor. Skjor and Aela are really worried for him too."

"We all are. Even Vilkas is, in a way."

"Okay." He couldn't help his tone showing just how little he believed that.

"Hm. Well, Vilkas is worried about the ramifications of it." Farkas stared blankly at him. "The consequences. He doesn't want Edric badly wounded on his watch. Vilkas is an excellent field medic but they'll be a day away from Whiterun if things go sour. I agree with Vilkas that this could be a trap. Skjor did mention that it seemed much too convenient, but between the two of them Vilkas and Edric will get things sorted out. Your brother and Edric are both very intelligent, competent men."

"Is Edric as smart as Vilkas?"

Kodlak made a thoughtful sound. "For the most part. I would say Vilkas has the greater intellect, however Edric has a hell of a lot more sense, and a broader range of knowledge and experience." He sighed with regret. "I had hoped the two could become friends, but that's impossible for now. Once Vilkas is cured…perhaps." Farkas grunted with extreme skepticism. "I don't blame you for not wanting to abstain from the hunt, son. You see your brother suffering, and you have someone to watch over you now, in Edric." He coughed into the kerchief, with deep, wracking coughs that left him spent when it was over. Farkas moved to the side of the bed, a look of anguish on his face, and Kodlak whispered weakly, "Will you take the cure? When it is found?"

Farkas nibbled at his bottom lip then whispered, "I don't know." He didn't have the heart to tell Kodlak that he hoped Edric took the blood so they could mate permanently. If they both had the beastblood then there was no way in hell Farkas was taking the cure, whatever it ended up being. Not unless Edric took it too.

"I think I have found the journals I was looking for. Perhaps…" He coughed shortly then cleared his throat. "Perhaps I will seek Vilkas' advice on the matter, when he returns from Edric's Trial. Perhaps… it will give him some hope."

"Maybe." Vilkas could sure use it.

* * *

_**A/N: The idea of 'maxing out' on magical healing isn't my headcanon, per se, however as I may have mentioned in a previous note it's an idea that's been rolling around in my head for the last year and a half, so the notion is being explored in this story. Imagine playing the game without being able to drink a healing potion or cast healing spells, even at higher levels, and you can start to imagine what a serious handicap it could be.**_


	12. Chapter 12

**Vilkas – 30th of Heartfire, 4E205**

Vilkas nodded curtly to the guards as he and Edric passed through the city gates. The whelp had been up by time Vilkas awakened, already packed and armored for the road and eating breakfast. Tilma was fussing over him, clearly worried that he couldn't heal, because Vilkas couldn't imagine why else she would be. Surprisingly enough, Farkas hadn't been there to see Edric off, though maybe he had said his goodbyes already and was out in the yard. Vilkas had eaten a light breakfast then had jerked his head towards the doors, and Edric had followed without a word. In fact he hadn't said a word to Vilkas the entire way through town.

Edric continued his silence all the way to the stables, where the Companions kept a handful of horses. Vilkas finally asked him, "Do you have a horse of your own?"

"Aye, but not here."

Vilkas frowned. "How did you get here then?" Edric stared at him for a moment like he was brain damaged then slowly raised his arm and pointed behind Vilkas. He looked over his shoulder and saw Bjorlam there with his wagon, reading a book. He made a sound of annoyance and said, "No no, how do you get around?"

"Am I not allowed to use the Companions' horses yet?"

"Well, yes, but—" Edric walked away toward Skulvar, and Vilkas grit his teeth and followed. It was as if the man couldn't give a straight answer to even the most simple of questions. Edric always seemed to avoid the question, either through redirection or refusal to answer. Well Vilkas wasn't dense like his brother. He was going to get to the root of who Edric was on this trip. Eventually the whelp would slip up. Vilkas didn't care if Kodlak and Skjor knew exactly who and what Edric was.

That was something that had weighed on Vilkas' mind since the previous night: Kodlak's comment of _Who and what Edric is has nothing to do with you, Vilkas._ Not just who Edric was, but _what_ he was. And then there was Farkas' comment about all the healing Edric had received earlier this summer. Vilkas had never in his life heard of anyone who had needed so much healing that Restoration magic no longer worked for them. He wished he'd thought to discuss it with Danica, but doing so just now occurred to him.

Then there had been the way Edric had made a sound of pain and rotated his shoulder then let his arm fall, exactly the way the Dragonborn had after the battle with the dragon outside Rorikstead back in the spring. And Edric had then gone still and looked over at Vilkas, as if thinking the same thing. Edric had bested Skjor, which no one had done in Vilkas' memory, but it was more than that; Vilkas had watched the bout very carefully and noted that Edric had been slightly…twitchy, as if resisting the urge to use magic. Pressing his lips together, as if resisting the urge to use the thu'um. Edric was also much, much stronger than a man his size should be, as Vilkas' jaw and gut could attest to yesterday.

_He is a force of nature, the very breath of Kyne,_ Ulfric had said. _Like the breath of Kyne herself,_ Farkas had said. Edric worshipped Kynareth; the Greybeards worshipped Kynareth. _I was beautiful!_ the Dragonborn had cried, and like it or not Vilkas couldn't deny that Edric was. The Dragonborn loved men; so did Edric. The Dragonborn had lost his husband in the Battle of Solitude; Edric had lost his man in the same battle. Both the Dragonborn and Edric had served for a number of years in the Legion before joining Ulfric's cause. Both the Dragonborn and Edric had been to Solstheim. Kodlak and Skjor both knew all about Edric and his past; both old men had gone to Ivarstead and talked to the Dragonborn on his way back to High Hrothgar. Kodlak had spent massive amounts of time alone with Edric after he came to Jorrvaskr, and Skjor seemed highly invested in Edric's success with the Companions. Kodlak had known Edric on sight, Vilkas was sure of it, the day the young man had joined. And he had told Edric to come straight back to him after his test, as if there were no doubt at all that Edric would pass.

As he and Edric mounted their horses and started the ride to Dustman's Cairn, Vilkas felt a sudden stab of certainty that Edric was the Dragonborn. He had to be. There were too many parallels, too much effort being put into hiding Edric's true identity and full past. Kodlak and Skjor were too invested in Edric's future with the Companions. Somehow this 'healer' Edric had seen this summer had mended most of his old injuries, though how was something that nearly made Vilkas reconsider. The Dragonborn had been missing an eye and had no hair at all, not even eyelashes. Vilkas could see how some of the other scars could be fixed, but the eye, the hair? It still seemed impossible, and yet it seemed nearly impossible that Edric _wasn't_ the Dragonborn.

Vilkas kept his thoughts to himself as they rode west, and Edric was silent as well, not even glancing Vilkas' direction as they rode. A soft rain started to fall after a couple hours and they pulled up the hoods of their cloaks, just as the Western Watchtower started coming into sight through the gray drizzle. He watched Edric out of the corner of his eye as they drew closer, seeing the younger man do nothing more than give it a bored glance.

The guards there hailed Vilkas as a Companion, and as they passed the tower Vilkas carefully said, "You know, the Dragonborn fought his first dragon here."

"Huh," Edric said with just the right level of polite interest. "That must've been something. Where are the bones?"

"The surviving guards split up the remains as trophies. Irileth took the skull."

"Well good for them."

Vilkas pursed his lips, his eyes narrowed. "Amazing how someone can be named a Thane for simply being in the right place at the right time," he stated. "Some say he didn't even strike the killing blow."

"Why would he need to?"

"Because he's supposed to be the all-powerful dragon slayer. Isn't he?"

"Who ever said he was all-powerful?" Edric shrugged. "Anyone can kill a dragon. The Dragonborn is supposed to devour the soul, to keep the dragon from ever being raised again."

_Devour the soul._ Vilkas couldn't help shivering a bit at that. "How would that happen regardless, if he destroyed Alduin, who was raising the dragons?"

Edric shrugged again. "You're asking the wrong guy, Vilkas."

_Am I?_ he nearly retorted. Gods it was tempting to simply ask Edric, but the whelp was much too good an actor. Vilkas could imagine how Edric would lightly laugh off the suggestion, with some flippant comment, trying to make it seem like Vilkas was imagining things.

"Farkas told me you fought a dragon once," Edric went on. "That must've been exciting."

Vilkas felt his upper lip twitch in a sneer at the tiniest hint of condescension in Edric's voice. Maybe he was imagining it, but he didn't think he was. "Exciting is not the term I would use," he stated in a curt tone. "The creature was as big as a house. I was lucky it was using frost breath or I may have died. If the Dragonborn hadn't come along I very well might have."

"Eh, I doubt that. I've heard you're pretty good. As good as Skjor in some ways." Vilkas wasn't sure how to take that and so stayed silent. Edric smiled at him and added, "Maybe we could go up against each other some day, just for kicks." He snorted a laugh. "And without an audience."

Vilkas grunted, not giving him a yea or nay, and Edric left it alone, going silent. Vilkas had been eager for a match before yesterday, but after the whelp had laid him out that morning then made a show of his skill in front of the entire group of Companions Vilkas was no longer sure he could best him. Vilkas was as good as Skjor, when it came to pure technical skill, but the wily old warrior always seemed to anticipate every move his opponent made. It seemed he should have anticipated Edric's fake slip on the cobblestones, but it had been too real. Even Vilkas had fallen for it. Yes, Edric was very good at pretending. He was almost as good as Farkas, who had spent the last decade hiding what he was from his own twin and tricking Vilkas into thinking the future they'd planned out stood a chance of happening.

A swell of rage and betrayal went through him, and when he saw Edric reach back into a saddlebag for a bottle of mead he snapped, "A little early for that, don't you think?"

"Nah. This is actually my second of the day."

Vilkas stared at him, appalled by the admission. He watched Edric guzzle down a third of the bottle in a few seconds, a prodigious feat for a man his size. It startled him out of his anger, and he asked, "And Kodlak has no issue with your drinking?"

Edric swallowed and wiped his mouth with his thumb, shrugging. "He doesn't like it," he admitted.

"Then quit."

"Don't want to," he said with another shrug. "Besides, if I quit cold I'll get sick. I tried it once. No thank you." He put the bottle back in the saddlebag. "My drinking will have no impact on the job, or the Companions. It will sure as hell have less impact than Torvar's." Vilkas grunted again, unable to deny that.

An hour and a half later they passed Fort Greymoor, the blue-clad soldiers there busy repairing the walls. Vilkas noted that Edric seemed somewhat surprised at that. Vilkas was as well, but it was good to see. Better to have the place occupied by Stormcloaks who were actually making themselves useful than an endless succession of bandits. The forts in Skyrim, and probably most of the Empire, were in serious disrepair, dating back to the days of Tiber Septim, and in some cases even older. If war with the elves was just around the corner as many said then it behooved King Ulfric to see to Skyrim's defenses. If nothing else, Ulfric knew war.

They stopped briefly on the other side of a small bridge spanning a creek, to let the horses graze and drink while the two men ate a light lunch. Vilkas let Edric lead, hard as it was, and had to admit that the whelp's silence was surprising. Edric had promised he would be professional on the job, but Vilkas had been sure the younger man wouldn't be able to contain himself. In fact Edric was too quiet and the silence was starting to get on Vilkas' nerves.

He watched Edric drink the remaining mead while they ate, making him clench his teeth to resist calling him a pathetic alcoholic. Vilkas simply couldn't understand how anyone could let themselves slide into such a state. Vilkas liked his drink as much as any Nord, but becoming reliant on it to function? It was unthinkable. He supposed he was now reliant on the damn Ring of Hircine to function, but that wasn't the same thing at all. Vilkas was cursed; drinking was voluntary.

After they finished eating Edric knelt down by the stream to wash his hands and face, and Vilkas nearly sneered at him for being so fastidious, clearly remembering the day Edric had joined and jabbed at him for being filthy. Vilkas enjoyed being clean just fine while at home or in a city, but on the road it was a waste of time to fuss over it. Edric pulled the hood of his cloak back up as it began to rain in earnest, and as he stood Vilkas heard the rumble of thunder, a common occurrence on the plains. Edric met his eyes as the thunder boomed again, and Vilkas felt his skin crawl at the hint of knowledge there, the hint of threat. It was as if Edric knew what he was thinking. Knew that Vilkas suspected who he was. Knew that staring at Vilkas while the thunder rolled would only reinforce the Companion's thoughts.

Edric smiled at him, the look in his eyes softening, eyes that were green as emeralds under impossibly thick lashes. Vilkas stared at him and simply couldn't figure out how the mysterious healer had managed to fix the horrible injuries he remembered. If Edric truly was the Dragonborn and had always been this handsome, Vilkas couldn't begin to guess how it must have felt for him to see the ruin of his face after Sovngarde, couldn't imagine how it had felt to go from being beautiful and married and one of the most powerful men in Tamriel to being a burnt, crippled widower. To have it all and then lose it.

Edric blinked, startling Vilkas out of his thoughts, and he whispered harshly, "What are you looking at?"

The young man laughed quietly and turned away, saying, "My answer is the same as the last time you asked me." Vilkas growled angrily. "And for a moment you looked just like Farkas."

"We are twins. Of course we look alike." He knew that wasn't at all what Edric had meant, but that was all he was going to give the whelp. Twins were rare, and identical twins rarer, so Vilkas and Farkas had often gotten comments about how alike they looked, though that had grown less as time went on.

Edric mounted his horse, asking, "Did you two ever try to trick people when you were kids? Pretend you were each other?"

Vilkas didn't answer at first, startled by the question. "Well…yes." He mounted his own horse and they began to ride. It was a surprising question, and one that brought back pleasant memories. "Until Tilma started cutting our hair differently, when we were seven or eight," he continued, unsure of why he was even bothering. He supposed it was better than complete silence. He and Farkas had often tried to fool people in town, and it had often worked as long as Farkas kept his mouth shut; it was easier for Vilkas to play dumb than for Farkas to pretend he was smart. And then they'd hit puberty and Farkas had started turning into a big ox and his voice had gotten deeper than Vilkas'. They were nearly the same height but Farkas outweighed him by good twenty or thirty pounds of pure muscle. There was no confusing the two of them now.

"That must have been fun. Having a brother."

"At times. You have no siblings?"

"No. Probably for the best. I just would've ended up taking care of them, most likely. I half raised myself, so…yeah."

"You have no parents?"

"My mother is still alive. I have someone taking care of her and go visit her every couple of months. I never knew my father growing up. I still can't get a completely straight answer out of Mum about him." He smirked briefly at Vilkas. "She's always been a bit soft in the head. Harmless, really, and she was always sweet to me, but she was too busy trying to keep us both fed to pay attention to the finer points of parenting. So I decided to raise myself. Found sympathetic adults and older kids to teach me to read, do math, how to fight. I've always been littler than all the other Nord kids so I had to learn fast."

Unwillingly interested, Vilkas asked, "Why is that? Why are you so small for a Nord?" Just as the Dragonborn was.

"Mum is small for a Nord too. She's half Breton, on her dad's side. I…actually didn't know that until recently. I'm not sure how that carried through to me, since that isn't supposed to happen, but…eh, just makes me cuter, huh?" he said with a grin and a wink. Vilkas sputtered, shaking his head. "Mum is still pretty, but she was a real beauty when she was younger. Not that she's old. She's only a few years older than you and Farkas."

"You're joking."

"She's forty-six. She had me as a teenager. She was barely legal when my father bedded her." Vilkas wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I'm a bastard, actually."

Vilkas made a scoffing sound, the bald statement nearly making him laugh, a sensation he hadn't felt in much too long. "I could have told you that," he found himself saying. Edric laughed, a full-throated sound that made Vilkas snort, unable to help it. Edric said nothing more, seeming content to leave things on a pleasant note. And it suddenly was pleasant now, and Vilkas couldn't figure out why it had happened. How it had happened.

The two men stayed wrapped in their own thoughts for the next few hours until they were nearing Redoran's Retreat, and Vilkas sighed as he saw the expected bandits come out of hiding and fan out across the road. He pulled his cloak around him, covering his armor as best he could, curious as to how Edric would handle this. The whelp pulled his horse to a stop, holding up his hands, and Vilkas snorted to himself and did the same. He counted five spread across the road and another four hanging back near the outcropping that hid the cavern, armed with bows. Archers were always a problem, but the number of opponents was manageable.

"You there," the leader, a big Redguard, called out. "This is a toll road. So pay your toll."

"Oh my," Edric said in dismay. He looked at Vilkas with huge eyes. "Bandits," he breathed fearfully.

Vilkas resisted the urge to smirk and muttered, "So it would seem." By Ysmir the whelp was ridiculous, and yet Vilkas couldn't help finding it somewhat entertaining. Edric's eyes flicked towards the rock and Vilkas lifted his chin in agreement.

Edric slid off his horse and Vilkas followed a moment later as the bandits cautiously approached. Edric said in a shaking voice, "I have a magic sword, do you want that? I can give you that."

The Redguard laughed in contempt and answered, "Sure, that'll be good for starters." Edric nodded and reached back and pulled out his sword. When Vilkas did the same the bandits' eyes widened at the sight of his armor and the Redguard shouted, "Companions!"

Vilkas roared and went straight for the leader while as the faster one Edric ran towards the archers. Vilkas didn't spare him even a glance, confident that Edric could handle himself. If he had been out here with any of the other whelps it would have been dicey. He focused on the five outlaws who quickly surrounded him, the leader especially, whose eyes were wide with fear as he realized just what he had gotten himself into. Vilkas cut him down first as he heard satisfying screams from the archers, not sparing much thought for why all four were screaming at the same time.

He was on the third of his five opponents when the fourth fell with an arrow in her neck, then the fifth. He lopped off the head of the startled bandit in front of him then glanced over to the rock outcropping to see Edric tossing aside a shoddy hunter's bow, the whelp uninjured. Vilkas bent down to rifle through the bandits' belongings, finding a bit less than fifty septims and an enchanted Elven dagger that looked like it was worth something. The rest was junk, as was usually the case with these lowlives.

Edric came over to help him drag the bodies off the road, and once they were done the young man said, "I'm going to check out their cave real quick. I'll be back in a minute."

"What for?" Vilkas asked in annoyance. "It is a waste of time." He narrowed his eyes and added, "Unless you're looking to raid their stash of drink."

Edric said in an overly patient tone, "Because sometimes they keep prisoners there. Playthings. I won't be able to sleep tonight if I don't check."

"Fine, fine," Vilkas muttered, unable to argue with that reasoning. "I will look after the horses." Edric nodded and took off at a sprint to the backside of the hill. Vilkas approached their mounts, clucking his tongue reassuringly, seeing they were slightly spooked. Their horses were trained to be calm in such situations, but even so they could get riled at times. He led them over to the grass and let them graze then went to check the archers that Edric had taken down. He frowned, seeing burn marks on their armor and smelling ozone, though they also had obvious wounds from a great-sword. The simultaneous screams suddenly came back to him, and he hissed furiously, "Magic!" Edric had used magic on the bandits, probably lightning magic from the smell of it. Vilkas hadn't heard the spell being cast, but experienced mages could cast silently.

He growled and stalked off after the whelp, pulling the horses along with him towards the entrance, then he shoved open the doors and went inside, familiar with the layout of the place from all the times he had been tasked with emptying it out. He found a couple more fresh bodies, though these bore no sign of magic use upon them. He stalked through the small caverns, finding Edric coming back from the end chamber eating an apple. He tossed one to Vilkas but the Companion batted it away.

"Now what?" Edric sighed.

"You used magic!" Vilkas snarled. Edric didn't deny it, gazing at him unapologetically as he took another bite. "Companions do not use magic!" Of course the whelp knew magic, if he was indeed the Dragonborn, who was known to be a skilled spellsword, but he should have set it aside upon joining the guild.

"No magic at all?"

"No, none!"

"Good to know," Edric said with a nod as he walked past Vilkas. "Next time someone gets hurt I'll make sure to keep my magic to myself. All of it."

Realizing he was caught, Vilkas followed after him, growling, "Healing is different."

"Uh, no, it isn't, and I hardly think you're any kind of expert on the arcane arts."

"Restoration magic is accepted in Skyrim."

"I've never seen anyone running mages out of the country, and I hate to break it to you, but magic is magic. It all comes from the same place: Aetherius. The mind channels it into its different uses. The magic that saved your brother's life is the same magic that I used to keep myself from getting filled with arrows. I'm good, but even I can't avoid four archers at once without a little extra help."

"It is cheating!"

"Is it? Have you ever had to shapeshift to save your ass?" Vilkas didn't answer. "Yeah, I thought so. I'm going to tell you what I told the rest of the Circle: if I have to use magic to avoid getting seriously injured then I'm going to."

"Then we might as well turn around right now and go back to Jorrvaskr," Vilkas said hotly, "because I refuse to go any further with you, _mage."_

"Go ahead. I'll go get that goddamn shard by myself then, and you can go back to Jorrvaskr and tell Kodlak you abandoned the mission, and me, because you were throwing a hissy fit over how I operate." Vilkas bared his teeth and snarled, and Edric quickly turned around with his hands up, his expression intense. "Go ahead, wolf," he murmured in a dangerous tone. "You won't get any farther this time than before, except this time I won't be healing you."

Enraged, Vilkas hissed, "I know what you are. I know _who_ you are."

"I don't care what you think you know. What I know is that _you_ are a werewolf with questionable self-control. What I know is that _you_ are a Daedra worshipper, Son of Hircine. You are a supernatural creature that is almost universally reviled. What am I?" Vilkas recoiled, his eyes wide, and didn't answer. Edric lowered his voice and added menacingly, "If I begin to consider you a danger to the general public, I will put you down, Vilkas. I will _kill_ you, do you understand? I will execute you and the rest of the Circle can go to hell. What's the old saying, it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission?"

"You…you would do that," Vilkas whispered, chilled to the bone. Edric was dead serious, Vilkas' question mostly rhetorical. Edric would put him down like a rabid dog. Vilkas could see his death in Edric's eyes, which were as cold as the Sea of Ghosts. He could nearly smell the danger coming off the younger man in waves.

"You can barely control yourself. You're a danger not only to the public but your own shield-siblings. Ask yourself how what you are compares to whatever you think I am. You answer to a Daedra. You sold your soul to the Lord of the Hunt, and for what? To be part of a secret club? To gain more power? And you dare to cast aspersions upon my honor for using magic, no, the _wrong_ kind of magic, as if there is such a thing. You dare to judge me from the vantage of your tiny, cramped little world underneath an overturned old boat. You are _small,_ Vilkas." Edric turned and walked away.

Vilkas shuddered, his anger evaporated. He waited until Edric was out of sight then slowly began to follow, feeling ill at ease, and only partly because of the threat to his life. He was every bit as sure now that Edric was Dragonborn as before, if not more so. Edric's words stung, too. Daedra worshipper. Son of Hircine. Yes, compared to the Dragonborn, well, it wasn't much of a contest. Vilkas could scream to all of Jorrvaskr and Whiterun and Skyrim and beyond that Edric was Dragonborn, and what would that get him? He would look like a fool, a child. Small. It wouldn't make anyone turn on Edric; if anything it would only make everyone love him even more.

As he made his way out of the cave he saw Edric feeding the horses apples. The younger man didn't turn around, and for a split second Vilkas felt a sudden surge of irrational fury that made him nearly draw his small knife and try to slit Edric's throat, hating him for…for everything. For turning Jorrvaskr upside down. For stealing Farkas and ruining his future. For stealing Kodlak's attention. Stealing Skjor and Aela's loyalty. Stealing Ria's admiration. For stealing Whiterun from Balgruuf. For getting Lydia killed. Vilkas knew exactly what would happen if he attacked Edric again, and Edric wouldn't heal him next time, and Vilkas would have to waste a potion or return to Whiterun with the shame of being beaten again.

Edric glanced over his shoulder at Vilkas, the coldness in him gone, and Vilkas struggled with his beast, feeling a wave of shame over the murderous urge that had nearly gotten the better of him. And it would have been murder. Vilkas would have been a murderer, and anyone would have been within their rights to put him down. Edric clearly understood what a danger Vilkas was, just as Aela did. For a brief, weary moment he considered pulling off the ring and letting Edric finish it. Finish him. But doing that would be a surrender just as surely as giving in to his beast.

Edric sighed sympathetically and began, "Vilkas—"

Vilkas bared his teeth at him and growled, cutting him off, not bothering to stifle the wolfish behavior, then yanked the reins out of the young man's hand and swung up into the saddle. He pulled the horse about then began riding back to the road, seeing a mated pair of sabre cats already slinking through the grass towards the bodies.

He was well onto the road when he heard Edric's horse cantering behind to catch up. He could have tolerated more of Edric's coldness, but not his sympathy. His pity. Edric thought he was probably being quite magnanimous, thought he was being some kind of hero to extend his compassion with one hand while threatening Vilkas' life with the other. Well of course Edric was a hero. He was the fucking Dragonborn.

Vilkas squeezed his eyes shut against a wave of helpless fury, bunching the reins tightly in his hands. What the hell was Edric doing with the Companions anyway? Why would someone like him even come to Jorrvaskr? Was it all a joke to him? Was he slumming with a bunch of mercenaries as a way to amuse himself? He remembered quite well the Dragonborn's first visit to Jorrvaskr a year ago, how the man had implied to Farkas that he questioned the honor of the Companions. Why would he return, healed and whole again, when Kodlak was on death's door and the Circle at odds? He seemed fond of the old man. Both old men, since he seemed to like and respect Skjor. Had he promised the two of them, after Sovngarde, in Ivarstead, that some day he would give the Companions a chance? But how could that be when the Dragonborn had been such a mess? And yet even crippled and in constant pain, grieving a dead husband, he had eventually left High Hrothgar and continued doing his duty, destroying the vampire lord at the heart of the vampire menace, possibly even destroying another Dragonborn, if the tales were true, which Vilkas still doubted.

Vilkas opened his eyes, feeling another pang of shame, warring with the urge to hate the younger man. _You are small, Vilkas,_ he heard a voice whisper. Small and petty and self-centered and cruel. Even if the Dragonborn had left High Hrothgar only because the Greybeards ran out of mead, he could have gone anywhere. Instead he had continued doing his job, even as broken as he was.

Edric stayed mercifully silent as they continued to Dustman's Cairn, riding slightly behind Vilkas, as if aware that the Companion didn't even want to look at him. Vilkas didn't want to see any softening in those grass-green eyes, and he sure as hell didn't want those eyes to see Vilkas' own guilt. After all Edric had possibly been through, and he looked at Vilkas with sympathy. Vilkas couldn't tolerate that.

They reached the barrow as the sun was edging down behind the hills to the west. The horses were restless, tossing their heads as the two men dismounted. Vilkas lifted his nose and sniffed but smelled nothing worrisome, then his ears caught a creaking, clicking sound.

"Skeletons," Edric murmured.

"There's a burial ground on the back side of this hill," Vilkas quietly said. "Hamvir's Rest. Have you seen the ghost that rides about Skyrim, without his head?"

"The Headless Horseman? Aye, many times."

"He can often be found there. It is said he is Hamvir, but no one knows his story."

"I tried following him once. I got bored with it pretty quick." He pulled out his bow and a quiver of arrows then walked away from the horses and Vilkas, who tied their reins loosely to a nearby pine. If they were attacked they could free themselves with a few good tugs but would otherwise stay put. Edric crouched and crept to the edge of the hill with Vilkas behind him, and when he saw three skeletons he rolled his eyes. Vilkas studied the bow as Edric strung it without even a small grunt of effort then knelt and laid out two arrows in front of him then nocked the third. Then before Vilkas knew what was happening the arrows were all fired in quick succession and the skeletons were falling into heaps of bone, clattering like windchimes.

Vilkas narrowed his eyes as he finally saw the faint sheen on the bow. "So you have a magical bow as well," he said in distaste. He had seen the dwarven bow before but hadn't looked at it all that closely.

"Yes. Her name is Zephyr. She was a gift from a dead friend, while we were in Arkngthamz." He unstrung the bow.

"There is no honor in magic," Vilkas insisted. "You cannot be a Nord and a Companion and use magic and still have any honor."

Edric sputtered a laugh of derision as he stood, sliding the bow and quiver onto his back. "Tell that to Tsun and the mages in the Hall of Valor." He smirked at Vilkas, who looked stricken. "Mm-hm. Mages will get in, but _you_ won't. Funny, huh?"

The young man jumped down from the ledge then sauntered towards the sarcophagus at the back of the burial ground, pulling Stormfang as he went. Vilkas watched numbly as the lid popped off and a massive draugr in a horned helmet stepped out, wielding an ebony battleaxe. The bonewalker must have been a giant of a man in life, nearly seven feet tall, with a fire-red beard that reached the middle of its chest.

"_Bolog fah aaz, mal gein."_ The grating voice sent shivers up Vilkas' spine, and when the creature stopped and arched its back to take a breath into its withered lungs he nearly cried out to warn Edric, but the words of power rolled out like thunder before he could think to speak. _"FUS RO DAH!"_ Edric stumbled back a few steps then laughed and went after the creature. Vilkas shook his head, bewildered. He had been blown off his feet and into a wall more than once by that shout. It was one of several reasons why Companions never entered crypts alone; the undead there often had the power of the thu'um and would disarm you or worse before you knew what had happened.

The draugr's mummified muscles couldn't keep up with Edric's speed. The smaller man ducked under or spun away from the swung battleaxe every time it came for him, and little by little Edric hacked away at the creature until it was on its knees. A final well-placed swing sent the draugr's head flying across the burial ground. The fight had taken all of two minutes, and Edric hadn't used magic, though every time he had struck the draugr lightning had danced across its moldy, leathery skin.

Edric replaced his sword in its scabbard then bent down to pick up the axe, hefting it as easily as the much taller draugr had. He put it on his right shoulder then started back around the hill, stopping briefly to pluck a nightshade flower and stick it in his hair.

Vilkas rose to his feet as Edric approached, and he stared tiredly as the whelp grinned at him, taking the axe off his shoulder to show it to Vilkas. "Pretty nice, eh? That's real ancient Nord craftsmanship right there. Should fetch a good price." Vilkas didn't respond at all, simply staring at the young man in the dying light, with the purple flower gracing his hair above his left ear. Edric's smile faded then he pursed his lips and turned away. Vilkas rubbed his eyes, hearing Edric by the horses, probably securing his prize. Then he heard the clink of glass and the pop of a cork.

He sighed heavily as Edric put the bottle away then turned and started towards the barrow, without a word to Vilkas, the flower gone, his helmet now in place. He donned his own then followed the newblood down the stairs to the metal doors, seeing Edric studying them.

"Someone's been digging here," Edric stated. "And recently." He motioned to the fresh scrapes in front of the door where dirt and debris had been cleared away.

Vilkas nodded, unsettled. "I told Kodlak and Farkas that I believe this could be a trap," he muttered.

"Oh, no doubt of that. A fragment of Wuuthrad turning up in Whiterun hold of all places? Someone wanted to lure the Companions here. Wonder who could want a thing like that?" Edric drew his sword and pulled open one side of the doors, sliding through. Vilkas followed, pulling the door shut behind him as softly as possible, and when he turned around he reared back to see Edric staring at him intently, much too close. "How do you want to do this?" the newblood whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"If you have a problem with me using magic…I won't be healing you if you take an injury. It's all or nothing, wolf." Vilkas' upper lip twitched. "I know spells that can detect the living, and the undead. I can scout every room before we enter it and know the exact number and placement of any enemies." Vilkas' lips thinned out as he considered it, then he curtly shook his head. Edric sputtered a laugh of derision, shaking his head as well. "Have it your way, Companion. I hope you brought enough potions. For you, anyway." He started walking then stopped suddenly and rounded on Vilkas. "I won't let myself get crippled!" he hissed. "I won't let myself get disfigured!"

"That is your choice."

"That would be anyone's choice!"

"I will not set aside my honor or that of the Companions for the sake of convenience."

"You set aside your honor when you became a werewolf."

"I was twenty-four when I took the blood," Vilkas said through gritted teeth. "Me and Farkas, together. All our lives we trained to become Companions. Even Vignar says he cannot remember members of the Circle younger than us, so show a little respect, newblood."

"Give me a reason." He turned away. "Kodlak and Skjor have earned my respect. Aela and Farkas have earned my regard. You have not earned either."

"We are not here for me to earn your respect!" Vilkas spat as he followed. "You are here to earn mine!"

"Yeah, something tells me that in your current mental state that's going to be impossible."

"I knew it. I knew you wouldn't be able to keep your smart mouth shut!"

"I'm not jabbing at you; I'm arguing with you. Is no one allowed to debate anything with you? Not used to having someone as smart as you around, is that it?"

Vilkas ground his teeth together against a snarl of rage, resisting the urge to tackle Edric and start pummeling him. It would get him nowhere, and they both had weapons drawn. He refused to believe that Edric was as smart as him. More worldly perhaps, for obvious reasons, but not smarter.

As they passed through an archway into the burial chambers Vilkas accidentally kicked a loose stone, sending it skidding across the floor. Edric snapped, "Be careful. I'm not about to haul you back to Jorrvaskr on my back."

"It won't be me on your back, whelp!"

"Believe me, you're the _last_ person I want on my back."

Vilkas growled at the insinuation, but the groans and shuffles of undead moving towards them silenced any further bickering. Vilkas hung back and watched Edric furiously plow through the draugr, cutting one bony female in half. Another sprayed frost at the young man and he shrugged it off, leaving no doubt in Vilkas' mind that he was fully Nord no matter his lack of height. One of the undead broke off and came for Vilkas, and he saw it rearing back to shout. He ran at it, ramming it with his shoulder before the thu'um came rolling out, knocking it back.

"_Unslaad krosis,"_ it croaked as it came at him. Vilkas parried the swing of its sword then kicked it in the kneecap, breaking its leg backwards like a dry branch. It hissed and swung at him, immune to pain, dragging its leg as it came after him. He moved in and swung low, taking the broken leg off mid-thigh, and the draugr tumbled to the ground, its sword clattering on the stones. He stabbed down and severed its spine between the shoulder blades and the unholy light in its eyes finally died.

Vilkas followed the sounds of battle around the corner, seeing fallen draugr along the way, none of them bearing signs of magical damage. He hurried his pace, unable to help being worried about Edric's inability to heal. He didn't see or smell any blood, something his wolfish senses picked up more easily than anything it seemed, but the stink of the grave overpowered everything else. A roar of pain made Vilkas break into a run, and he skidded around a corner to see Edric backed against a wooden door, facing two draugr, his right upper arm bleeding. Both undead looked heavily damaged. Vilkas raised his sword and charged in but stopped short as Edric raised his right hand and his body was enveloped in a globe of sunlight. The draugr threw up their hands and made a hissing/wailing sound then began backing away, only to fall to the floor, truly dead.

Vilkas squinted against the light, shielding his eyes. Edric muttered, "It won't hurt you. And before you get agitated, it's a Restoration spell. Stendarr's Aura. It's only concentrated sunlight." He glared at Vilkas and put his sword away as he stated petulantly, "I tried it your way and now I'm bleeding. Thanks a whole hell of a lot."

Vilkas grumbled and said, "I told you I have no issue with the school of Restoration."

"This _will not_ help me against anything but undead!"

"Do you have any bandages with you?"

"No! I've never needed bandages before! Why the hell would I have bandages!"

Vilkas sighed and rubbed his eyes then let his hand fall, saying, "We need to go back out. To the horses. I have a kit in my saddlebag." The aura fizzled out and suddenly he felt nearly blind.

"I'll be fine."

He moved towards Edric and offered, "Let me see—"

"I said I'll be fine!" Edric pulled off his steel helmet and threw it, sending it bouncing off a wall.

Vilkas stared at him in disbelief, his eyes adjusting to the lower light. Edric was…by Ysmir, the whelp was _pouting._ Edric glared at him with a hurt expression, his full lower lip sticking out slightly, his jaw clenched and hair slightly mussed. The whole look combined with the wound probably would have sent Farkas over the edge and made him start fretting over his hurt little darling. Edric pulled his gaze away and grimaced in pain as he rotated his left shoulder, then his face contorted into an expression of helpless rage as he drew in a breath to yell. Vilkas lunged towards him, clapping his hand over his mouth with a hissing sound.

"Do not," Vilkas ordered. Edric stared at him with huge eyes. "We have made enough noise in here as it is." Edric nodded slightly, and when he blinked time seemed to slow to the consistency of taffy. It was beyond Vilkas how any man could have eyelashes so thick and long, or how anyone but an elf could have eyes so perfectly green. And…that smell. With Edric's mouth covered and not breathing out liquor Vilkas could detect a spicy, almost sweet scent coming off him. A scent he had smelled before. A scent that he had made mental note of every time he opened the chest that held his most treasured possessions and pulled out the single dragon scale he had kept. Edric smelled of dragon.

"Dragonborn," Vilkas whispered. Edric went still, and Vilkas lowered his nose to his hair and drew in a deep breath. The scent filled his nose and lungs, and it was just as Farkas had described. Edric smelled somewhat like the cinnamon that Tilma had put in their porridge as children, warm and spicy and….good. Vilkas could only imagine how good the rest of Edric smelled, underneath his armor, in places that were hot and sweaty from battle. He couldn't help but wonder if the rug matched the tapestry, dark honey touched with moonlight.

Vilkas made a growling sound of pleasure and moved closer, trapping Edric between him and the door, his hand still over the whelp's mouth. Edric's eyes widened as he let out a horrified, mumbled, "Hell no!" and reached behind him and pushed the door open, stepping backwards.

Vilkas fell forward, catching himself, and as Edric backed away Vilkas followed, murmuring, "Where are you going, little dragon?" Edric glanced behind him at the approaching stairs, and when Vilkas grabbed at him he darted underneath the Companion's arms and ran past him, back through the burial chamber. The beast reared up in excitement at being given a chase and Vilkas went after him, hearing the jingle of his armor farther ahead. That enticing smell drifted behind Edric as he ran, mixed with the scent of blood, an exotic blood that Vilkas had smelled but once in his life.

As he burst into the entry chamber he stopped and listened, not seeing Edric anywhere, but he could still smell him, and he let his nose search out what his eyes could not. He found the whelp crouching behind a mound of tumbled stones, and Edric spat out an obscenity and jumped to his feet, holding out hands which began to glow green.

"Stay back, wolf," Edric warned. "Farkas won't like—"

"Hasn't he told you we share everything, little dragon?" he growled in reply, then his growl deepened. "Pretty little dragon."

Edric shook his head as he clucked his tongue then he let the magic fly. Vilkas felt his muscles seize up and turn to wood, and as he stiffened and began to fall face first towards the floor he felt the fog of lust lift from his mind and had only a split second to wonder just how much his face meeting the stones was going to hurt.

He couldn't even whimper as Edric caught him just in time then lowered him to the ground. He laid there unable to move a muscle as Edric rolled him onto his back, but he could feel his face burning with humiliation. Edric leaned close and murmured, "Meet you by the horses, _brother."_ He slapped Vilkas on the chest in camaraderie then walked away.

Vilkas' muscles freed up and he gasped, rolling up to his feet, and Edric spun around, his hands raised and glowing green again. Vilkas made a sound of embarrassment and looked away, and Edric sighed and lowered his hands, the magic dissipating.

"You fucking werewolves," he said in exasperation. "Stop smelling me!"

"It's not as if I can help it!" Vilkas hissed. "I cannot simply turn it off!" Edric turned on his heel and walked to the door exiting the Cairn, and Vilkas went after him, demanding, "Admit you are Dragonborn!"

Edric laughed bitterly. "You just don't let up, do you?"

"I kept a scale from the dragon we fought. I've smelled it a dozen times." He closed the door to the tomb then pulled off his helmet and yelled, "Admit it!"

"Uh-uh."

"Why?!"

"Why should I?" Edric countered as he went up the stairs.

"Because it makes no sense not to do so!"

"It would make perfect sense, if you stopped and used your goddamn brain. In theory, _if_ it were true."

"I always use my brain!"

"Not all of it." Edric made a sound of pain and looked at his right arm, then he tiredly threw over his shoulder, "Just leave me the fuck alone the rest of the night. I'm exhausted. It was stupid to go in there this late in the day."

"I have to look at your arm."

"It's a shallow cut. I'm fine."

"You will let me tend to it as I would any shield-sibling or we are going home!"

"Any other shield-sibling could down a damn potion!"

"And you cannot, so let me look at it!" Edric walked with stiff shoulders to the horses, pulling off his cloak, and Vilkas went to his saddlebags and got out the medical kit that all Companions carried with them on jobs. He pulled off his gauntlets and tossed them on the ground then muttered, "We need to build a fire. It's getting dark."

"I know a spell for that," Edric said sourly.

"I'm sure you do." And frankly Vilkas didn't want to build a fire and attract any attention with the smoke from predators or bandits. He made a sound of frustration and growled, "What the hell, just do it. I am sick of all this." Edric smirked at him in the low light and raised his hands, a ball of bright white light touched with rainbow colors forming between his hands, then he tossed it above them, where it hung suspended, lighting a small area around them.

Edric looked away from him, pulling up the short sleeve of fur that went under his steel armor. Vilkas peered at the cut and indeed it was shallow, already drying up, but it looked puffy around the edges. Draugr didn't use poison but their weapons were ancient and usually rusty, lying next to them in their burial niches in the filth of the grave. He narrowed his eyes at Edric and said, "It might be infected. Unless you want a case of ataxia you'll need to drink a potion to cure disease."

"And what if that doesn't work?"

"We're about to find out. Do you have one?"

"No."

Vilkas grumbled in frustration. "Neither do I. The Circle is immune to disease, and the whelps always carry their own potions." He set down the box and took out a roll of linen bandages. When he stood Edric was watching him warily. "Be glad you do not need to be sewn up. You wouldn't find it pleasant." The young man frowned as he grunted in acknowledgment. Vilkas washed off the wound with a bit of water then dried it and dabbed it with comfrey ointment, making Edric wince. "This will keep the dirt out, however we should still get a potion into you. If there are Silver Hand down there as I fear then they will be carrying potions you can use. The idiots think that they can contract lycanthropy from a scratch or a bite. For all their 'studying' of our kind they understand very little." He wrapped a length of bandage around Edric's upper arm, tying it tight enough to stay on but not hinder the other man's movement.

"So you still consider them your kind, then."

"It is what I am, whether I like it or not."

"Was there ever a point when you did like it?"

Vilkas knelt down to put the bandages away. He debated how to answer, wary of discussing this with someone who wasn't a member of the Circle. However after the hunt the other night and whatever Kodlak or Farkas might have told the whelp, secrecy was pointless. "I've enjoyed the boons that come with the beastblood," he admitted. "Just like every member of the Circle. Kodlak is right, though: we've given a piece of our souls for this power, such as it is. Bargains such as this lead to ruin. This is a curse that was laid upon us, that much is clear." He closed up the small wooden box then stood to put it away. "You would do well to refuse the blood if it is offered to you."

"Farkas seems to enjoy it." Vilkas' shoulders tensed up as he put the box in the saddlebag. "He seemed happy while he was changed. Free."

"Free of what?" Vilkas snapped. As if his ice brained brother had any worries other than how to get Edric into his bed!

Edric shook his head and went to his horse, the orb of light following above him. "Forget I said anything. I just want to go to sleep, all right? Or do you want me to take first watch?"

"No, I'll do it. I won't be able to sleep anyway," he finished in a mutter.

"All right." He looked at his bandaged arm then glanced at Vilkas, who was watching him sullenly, silver eyes glittering in the light. "Eh, thank you."

Vilkas nodded and pulled out his tent and bedroll, ignoring Edric as best he could. He noticed the light going out after a short while, leaving them in near darkness, and Edric cast the light again, not bothering to ask for permission or even glance at Vilkas when he did it. The whelp put up his own tent and laid out the bedroll then divested himself of his armor, piling it next to him under cover. Vilkas grit his teeth at the sound of a cork popping then the guzzling of drink. Then they were both in darkness.

He settled at the foot of his own bedroll, watching the Cairn and the road below. He could hear soft sounds of discomfort as Edric squirmed, trying to get comfortable, something that was no doubt difficult with an aching shoulder, the cut on his other arm and gods knew how many bruises from his fight with Skjor the day before, not to mention the hand he had injured punching Vilkas. Vilkas had to be glad that the wound had been so shallow or he might have been forced to stitch him up. Perhaps Edric wouldn't have gotten injured if he hadn't already been somewhat compromised from yesterday. No Companion would have headed out on a job sore and bruised like that.

Now that he wasn't angry, at least for the moment, Vilkas tiredly wondered if perhaps he should say to hell with the restriction on magic and let Edric do things his way. While draugr were no laughing matter, still, they were manageable opponents for the most part, slow-moving and dim-witted. If there were living, breathing enemies down in the barrow Edric was going to get badly, perhaps permanently injured if he didn't use magic or the thu'um, and for some bizarre reason he refused to shout or admit he was Dragonborn. Which still baffled and annoyed Vilkas to no end.

Vilkas wondered if King Ulfric knew that the Dragonborn had gone to Jorrvaskr or if Ulfric believed he was still with the Greybeards. It was possible Ulfric didn't know Edric had gotten healed and thought he was still crippled and disfigured. It was possible Edric didn't want Ulfric to know. Ulfric had no doubt left the Dragonborn alone because he believed Edric was still in constant pain, barely able to walk. Not useful. Not the glamorous, dashing good luck charm of the Stormcloaks he had once been. And Edric no doubt still resented Ulfric for lying to him about Ralof.

The Companion sighed and drew up his knees, starting to get an inkling, now that he was calm, of why Edric was hiding what he was. No one knew what the Dragonborn looked like, other than Ulfric and maybe Galmar and the Dragonborn's remaining housecarls. Living like this, Edric could go about his own business for the most part with little hassle. Vilkas wondered if Kodlak had offered Jorrvaskr as a safe haven, though surely Kodlak hadn't bargained for Farkas developing a childish crush on Edric. It was tempting to tell Farkas exactly what Edric was, but it would make Kodlak and Skjor angry and not achieve Vilkas' goal, which was to keep his idiot brother away from Edric. If Farkas found out Edric was Dragonborn it would only make the whelp more appealing than ever.

Edric's fussing ended after a few minutes, replaced with deep, even breathing. Halfway through Vilkas' watch it began to rain in earnest, making him wish they had made camp inside the barrow. At least in there it was warm and dry, and they could have set camp in such a way that anyone sneaking around would be detected. Well, there was nothing for it but to hunker down and hope the bedrolls didn't get wet. The horses weren't particularly happy either, but they were drier under the thick boughs of their pine tree than the tents would be.

He got some trail rations out of his pack and nibbled on them, chasing it down with water. He would let the whelp sleep for a few hours and hope by then that he could get at least a few unbroken hours himself.

* * *

**Dovahzul Translations:**

**_Bolog fah aaz, mal gein - _Beg for mercy, little one_  
Unslaad krosis - _Unending sorrow**


	13. Chapter 13

**Vilkas – 1st of Frostfall, 4E205**

_Vilkas sniffed the air, following the scent of cinnamon through Dustman's Cairn. He saw a draugr sweeping the floor with a straw broom, trying to clean up the mess, and he paused and asked it, "Where did the little dragon go?" The draugr grunted and pointed at the wooden door nearby. "Thank you." It grunted again and returned to its chore._

_He passed through the door and into his own room, where the spicy smell permeated the air. He saw two pairs of feet under the covers behind the room divider, and when he came around it he saw Edric snuggled into Farkas' furry chest. "There you are," Vilkas chided. "You should know better than to try to hide from my nose." He climbed onto the bed, suddenly as naked as they were, though they were under the covers. He gently tugged on Edric's arm. "Come here, little one. I'm cold."_

_Edric turned his gaze on Vilkas, and his eyes glowed an unnatural hue of green, as if he were a draugr. "Unslaad krosis," he sighed in resignation and moved away from Farkas to slide into Vilkas' arms, and the Companion barely felt the brush of Edric's skin against his own before Farkas yanked him back._

"_Mine," Farkas growled._

"_There is enough for both of us," Vilkas said angrily._

"_No there isn't. He was mine first."_

_Vilkas grabbed Edric's other arm and pulled. "You're supposed to share!"_

"_Not this I'm not." Farkas pulled harder. Vilkas pulled back, baring his teeth, and his twin did so as well, a low growl of possessiveness in his throat. The brothers pulled with all their might, and the bowl of porridge went flying into the air, sending cinnamon-scented goop everywhere. Farkas cried out, "Now look what you've done! Now neither of us has any!" He shoved his brother out of the way and stalked out of the room, growling, "You ruin everything, Vilkas. You made Pa leave and now the porridge is gone too."_

A clenching pain in his chest made Vilkas whimper, and the roaring in his ears combined with the pain made him fear the change was coming on, but when he opened his eyes he saw the roof of the tent above him. He stared at it, disoriented, his heart pounding. Rain beat on the waterproof canvas, and he stared at it, seeing it blur. He angrily rubbed the wetness from his eyes then rolled onto his side, still tired, as was to be expected, though it was later than it should have been.

"Hey," he called out, not seeing Edric anywhere.

"Yeah, I'm here."

Vilkas let out a breath of relief. "Why is it so late?"

"You seemed like you were finally getting some good sleep, so I let you sleep." There was a rustling sound from Edric's tent and he went on, "Hungry? I made some porridge."

Vilkas' breath caught as his heart began to pound again. "H-how did you make porridge?" There was no fire.

"Some questions are better left unanswered. Do you want any or not?"

"Sure," he whispered.

"Huh?"

"Yeah, sure," he said more loudly. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes again, hearing rustling and clanking, then the sound of booted feet on the grass. He pushed himself up to a sitting position as Edric knelt, grimacing as his left knee cracked loudly. Vilkas took the offered bowl, fearing he would smell cinnamon rising from it, and instead smelled apples and honey. He caught the faint whiff of mead from Edric and lifted his eyes to the other man's, seeing him frowning slightly in concern. Vilkas narrowed his eyes as his upper lip twitched, and Edric put up his hands and abruptly rose and moved away.

Vilkas heard the sounds of Edric packing up his bedroll and tent. He sighed miserably and took a bite of the cooked cereal. He closed his eyes, feeling a wave of grief mixed with pleasure, the porridge warming him from the inside out, sweet but not too sweet, filled with chopped bits of apple. Delicious. He rarely bothered to cook anything on the road other than fresh game, and neither did the other Companions. He could just imagine how Edric had cooked it, too, with his own hot little hands. How very convenient. He couldn't even get angry about it, seeing as how he was benefiting from it. He supposed even if Edric were just some random adventurer that magic use not only would save his life but make it much more comfortable. Well, Companions were not adventurers, even if they were forced to act as ones occasionally in the course of a job. Magic had no place in their ranks.

He ate every bite of breakfast, licking the bowl clean, and afterward wanted nothing more than to lay down and go back to sleep with a full belly. Instead he wearily donned his armor, and when he heard Edric humming he nearly snapped at him to shut up. He heard a soft whicker from one of the horses, probably Edric's as he put his camping gear away. As he fastened the buckles of his cuirass he realized Edric was humming "The Dragonborn Comes".

Vilkas made a sputtering sound somewhere between irritation and amusement. No doubt the whelp was doing it on purpose, a not very subtle dig at Vilkas. He got his armor on then packed up his bedroll and tent, seeing Edric taking a leak behind a tree. He tore his eyes away, feeling an uncomfortable twinge of longing as the dream came back to him, with the smell of sweet spiciness and the feel of warm, smooth skin against him. It was then followed by the humiliation of his behavior in the barrow. Edric seemed willing to let it go, and gods knew Vilkas was more than willing to. He had to take comfort in the fact that he was such an unpleasant ass that even if Edric told someone, no one would believe it.

When the young man returned Vilkas handed him the bowl and spoon, and Edric asked, "How was it?"

"Fine," he muttered, caught off guard by the question.

Edric rolled his eyes. "You'll make a _wonderful_ husband someday."

Vilkas clenched his jaw against a furious growl, and the tiny pang of hurt the comment caused only made him angrier. Because of Edric, Vilkas would most likely never get the chance to be a husband. He nearly snapped at Edric and said something about him acting like a nagging wife but caught himself at the last second. Even he couldn't go that far, knowing who Edric was and what he had lost. Today was the 1st of Frostfall, and the 13th less than two weeks away. The thought cooled his anger, and he secured his tent and bedroll as Edric pulled up handfuls of wet grass outside the horses' reach and used them to clean out the bowl, feeding them to the horses who eagerly lapped them up.

Edric glanced at Vilkas and saw him scowling, and when the older man looked up he asked, "Will the horses be all right without water until later?"

"They should be. We need to finish this though; they're no doubt thirsty." He narrowed his eyes and said in a mock thoughtful tone, "One would think you haven't had to care for an actual living horse in a while."

Edric's eyebrows rose in astonishment. "What other kind of horse is there?" Vilkas didn't answer other than for his eyes to narrow further. "Can you even see when your eyes do that?"

Vilkas grumbled and stalked towards the Cairn, slamming his helmet down on his head. Edric's acting ability never ceased to amaze the Companion. He heard Edric following and threw over his shoulder, "I hope you are more honest with my brother than you have been with me."

"I've never lied to either of you and never will."

"Your behavior is much too close to a lie," he said as they went down the stairs. "This…charade of yours, do you not think it will hurt Farkas when he finds out the truth? Make the other whelps resent you?" Edric didn't answer other than to make a _hm_ sound of polite interest. His blood suddenly boiling, Vilkas turned in front of the door and snarled, "Stay the fuck away from my brother!" At that he finally saw true anger in Edric's eyes. He pointed at him and continued, "I don't know what the hell kind of game you're playing with him, but you will end it!"

"You think I'm playing a game?"

The cold fury in the other man's eyes and the intensely dangerous tone to Edric's voice made the hair on Vilkas' body stand on end. "I think you're taking advantage of someone who isn't capable of—" He found himself slammed against the door, his breath rushing out of his body in a _whoof_ that left him coughing and vaguely hoping that none of the potions in his pack had gotten crushed.

"You call your brother the idiot," Edric hissed. "You treat him like a child. You think to order his life to your liking as if he's nothing more than an _accessory_ to you!" He punctuated the word with another slam against the door, leaving Vilkas blinking owlishly. "I'll let you in on a little secret, wolf: _you_ are the idiot. _You_ are the child. You throw your little fucking tantrums and hold everyone around you hostage to your temper, and I'm sick of it!"

"Get your hands off me," Vilkas said in a shaking voice. The strength in the smaller man and the fury in his green eyes were terrifying, and Vilkas was not one to be terrified. It simply didn't seem possible that such a little person could be so fiendishly strong.

Edric went on as if he hadn't heard him. "Farkas knows what he's doing. Farkas can make his own choices, like any other grown man, and he shouldn't have to waste an ounce of energy worrying about how his mentally ill tyrant of a brother is going to react to what he does!"

"I am not ment—"

"_SHUT IT!"_ Vilkas shuddered as the faintest hint of thunder sounded in Edric's yell. Edric pointed his finger in Vilkas' face and said through gritted teeth, "Whether I let Farkas court me or not has nothing, _nothing,_ to do with you. You don't factor into the equation. Farkas is a good man, and his love is pure and unselfish, something you wouldn't know anything about, since I doubt that shriveled little husk in your chest is capable of the emotion. You dare, _dare,_ to accuse me of playing games with Farkas' heart. I lost someone who was my life and you dare! A year I've grieved and finally someone moves me and you come along and piss all over it like some back alley dog!" He let go of Vilkas and glared at him for a moment then lifted his chin. "Yeah, I'm the Dragonborn, asshole," he stated, "and if you fuck up things for Farkas I will _destroy_ you, but I won't kill you, oh no. You'll just wish I had." Edric took a deep breath, calming himself, then he rotated his left shoulder and smiled thinly at the Companion, motioning to the door.

Vilkas swallowed, his heart racing. He didn't say a word and slowly stepped aside, his pale eyes never leaving Edric. The Dragonborn pulled the door open and went inside, and as Vilkas followed him into the barrow the urge to stick a knife in Edric's neck was nearly overwhelming. As they passed through the burial chamber Edric found his helmet, dented beyond usefulness, and he tossed it aside with a sigh.

They encountered nothing else as they went down some stairs into a large, round chamber, no doubt the main room where the bodies were prepared for burial. A gate barred the exit from the chamber, and Vilkas stayed in the middle of the room and watched as Edric gathered brownish-orange light in his left hand then reached out and made a yanking motion, throwing the lever. Vilkas made a sound of bewilderment as a gate came down over the alcove, which would have trapped whoever was inside it to pull the lever. The gate exiting the room rose, opening the way.

"How...how did—" Vilkas' question died on his lips as the pounding of booted feet came down the hallway, and as Edric pulled his sword and backed toward Vilkas a dozen or more warriors poured into the room. The light from the braziers shined off silver-plated blades.

The leader grinned and said in delight, "Time to die, dog. We knew you'd be coming here."

"Fuck this," Edric said in annoyance. Vilkas gasped as Edric raised his hand, filled with fire, then cast the spell, surrounding himself in a cloak of flames. Vilkas was close enough that it should have burned him, but he felt only warmth. Edric went after the Silver Hand, who scattered with cries of pain as he plunged into their midst, setting them on fire. He started swinging and Vilkas shook himself and drew his own blade and began to fight, trying to trust that Edric's spell wouldn't harm him.

The effect lasted only a minute, during which several of the Silver Hand ran off in terror, and the ones who were left were clumsy, suffering from various degrees of burns. The stench of burnt hair and flesh was nauseating, though Vilkas had to admit that the spell had been effective.

The last of the attackers whimpered and ran for the exit, limping, and Edric walked after her and calmly finished her off. Vilkas looked the whelp over and saw that while he was bloody he seemed uninjured. He supposed that he probably should stop thinking of the younger man as a whelp though, considering. Edric glared at him and said, "If that ruined my chances, so be it." Vilkas shook his head, catching his breath. "I have a better spell than that, but it tends to disintegrate enemies. I gave them a fighting chance."

Vilkas nodded and looked away. "We both would have had difficulty with that many opponents," he admitted, with extreme reluctance. Edric grunted, and out of the corner of his eye Vilkas saw him looking through the effects of those who hadn't been burned too badly. He heard a sound of satisfaction and looked at Edric to see him taking the stopper off a potion for curing disease. The young man drank it down and a soft blue light wrapped around him, making Vilkas let out a tiny sigh of relief. At least those worked. "I would find a few more of those if I were you."

"Mm-hm."

As Edric pocketed some coins and some hawk feathers, Vilkas asked, "Why didn't you just shout?"

"What good would yelling do?"

He made a sound of intense frustration. "Are you really going to keep this up?"

"Sure am."

"Why?!" Vilkas cried, throwing his hands in the air.

Edric stared at him for a long moment then he sighed and bent down to look for a helmet. "I want to live my own life for a while. Before I get sucked back in."

"Why would you?"

"Why wouldn't I? You think Ulfric is going to let his greatest asset be just a common mercenary?"

"We are not common!"

"Regardless, he thinks I'm still in High Hrothgar, crippled and missing half my face. I haven't used the thu'um since I got healed, hard as it's been. Hardly anyone knows what I look like." He found an iron helmet with a curved horn on each side and stood, sticking it on his head. "How's this one look?"

"Ridiculous."

"Yeah, I thought so." Edric turned away and started out of the room, leaving the helmet on. "Anyway, I'm done talking about it. If any of the Silver Hand get away I don't need them spreading the word, you get me?"

"Why not at least tell Farkas? Or Aela?"

Edric hesitated, then he finally said, "I want honesty. I want people to like me for me. Not for what I am or what they think I can do for them. I just want to be me for a little while. Is that so hard to understand?"

"No," Vilkas quietly admitted. "I suppose not." It actually made Vilkas squirm a bit with guilt to know the reasons, especially the second one. As he followed Edric out he asked him, "When do you plan to tell my brother what you are?"

"I don't know. I will, but…" He grunted in aggravation. "I'm done talking about this."

Vilkas fell silent, mostly because the chambers and passageways echoed terribly. Edric walked softly when he wanted to but Vilkas was simply incapable of it. When they came to a turn Edric held up his hand and Vilkas stopped; the young man's hand began to glow pale blue, making Vilkas recoil, then the magic died and he held up three fingers. Vilkas nodded, trying to give up fussing about all this. It was futile, first of all, as Edric would do whatever the hell he wanted regardless of how Vilkas felt about it; secondly, Kodlak and Skjor knew damn well what Edric was and how he operated; third, this was not an ordinary job. They had been set up by their worst enemy, and they were outnumbered. Or had been. If Edric had to use magic to even the odds Vilkas couldn't deny him that. Edric's inability to heal magically was a serious liability, a potentially fatal one that would have made any Companion, any warrior, change careers. That he had been badly crippled before no doubt made him even more paranoid about getting injured.

Edric drew out Zephyr and opened the top of his quiver, pushing his cloak aside, and silently strung the bow. This Vilkas had less problem with, even if it was a magical bow. He knew damn well that Edric had to have caches of much more powerful weapons all over Skyrim, and much better armor, and that he had limited himself to this would have to do. Arrow nocked, Edric crouched and peeked around the corner. He then smoothly moved around the corner as he stood, firing off two arrows in quick succession.

Vilkas heard a choked gurgle then Edric fired again as Vilkas moved behind him, his sword at the ready. Two of the Silver Hand lay on the floor, dead, while the third stayed hidden. Vilkas could hear strained breathing as Edric put away his bow and drew out Stormfang. His right hand lit up briefly then he pointed to an alcove. Vilkas followed as Edric cautiously approached the remaining Silver Hand in the area, and when Edric sighed Vilkas came up next to him to look.

A young man, barely more than a boy, was huddled in the alcove next to a pedestal, shivering, his exposed skin covered in burns, clearly in intense pain. He whimpered when he saw them, and Edric asked him, "How many of you, altogether?"

"Help me," the boy whispered.

"How many?" Edric insisted.

"Twenty-three."

Vilkas did a quick mental tally; they had killed ten Silver Hand in the round chamber. Three were here; another ten remained. Edric nodded and lifted his sword, and the boy choked out a sob and closed his eyes. Edric cleanly took off his head and the body slumped over. Edric looked at Vilkas, waiting for him to disapprove. "Let's keep moving," Vilkas stated, and Edric nodded and turned away. While killing the boy was regrettable, it was necessary. He had been perhaps nineteen or twenty, old enough to know what he was doing, and healing him then letting him go could have come back to haunt them later. Edric had obviously regretted having to do it, but he knew the necessity of the situation as well as Vilkas did.

When they came to a wooden door that was barricaded from the other side, Vilkas muttered, "What do we do now?"

Edric rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and Vilkas suddenly realized in shock that Edric's face was as smooth as a woman's. He blinked as he stared at the young man's masculine jawline that was covered in peachy skin without a hint of stubble, unlike Vilkas' currently raspy face. Edric had not one hint of male facial hair. Vilkas couldn't fathom how he had failed to notice that before, especially when he'd had his hand over Edric's mouth. He wondered if the healer hadn't been able to make it come back, but then Edric had a very full head of hair, full eyebrows and eyelashes. Maybe Edric simply hadn't wanted it back. Maybe—

"Did you hear a word I said?" Vilkas blinked and lifted his eyes to Edric's. "I said, I could 'yell' at the door, if you get me, but I'd really rather not. I could eh, conjure up a friend to do it though."

"Must you?" Vilkas asked in a sour tone. He found conjuration to be the most unsettling of the schools of magic next to necromancy. The idea of taking a creature from _there_ and bringing it _here_ made his skin crawl. He shook himself and spat, "Whatever, I just want to get this over with and go home." This job had been more stressful than the last, for entirely different reasons. He felt emotionally drained.

"Back it up."

Vilkas moved back about fifteen feet, and he felt a cold shudder go through him as Edric put away his sword then held both hands up in front of him. They filled with a deep purple glow as a look of intense concentration passed over Edric's face. He slowly, gracefully waved his hands in front of him, gathering the magic between them as the glow intensified, then held his hands out to the sides, his arms trembling slightly. Vilkas could feel every hair on his body standing on end at the feel of immense power emanating from the other man. Edric's expression hardened as he forcefully threw the magic at the ground, and Vilkas made a sound of dismay as a portal of purple light opened between the two of them.

A hulking frost atronach stepped out, and Vilkas clenched his jaw shut against making a sound as the creature's featureless face swiveled around to look at him, as if assessing if he were friend or foe. He could feel the intense cold pouring off the beast, which stood a good ten feet tall, its pointy head nearly scraping the ceiling.

"Come." Edric snapped his fingers and the atronach lumbered over to him. He pointed at the door. "Break it open."

Edric backed up to near Vilkas, who was more than glad to let him play the human shield. The frost atronach pulled back one club-like arm then slammed it into the door, splintering the wood. There were satisfying cries of alarm from inside. Vilkas couldn't help being curious as he asked, "How smart are they?"

Edric shrugged. "Eh, not too bright. About as smart as a troll, I'd say. They've been studied extensively, believe me, so I'm sure of that. Dremora on the other hand are cunning, as intelligent as humans and elves, in their own way. I don't mess with those. And before you ask, I refuse to practice necromancy in any form."

"Like that dead horse of yours?"

"That's Conjuration, not necromancy. Arvak's been dead a long time, he just doesn't realize it. When I call him into this world it makes him happy. He goes back to the Soul Cairn afterward." He drew his sword and moved forward as the door busted inward, sending Silver Hand scattering. "And that's all you're gonna get out of me," he finished as he ran into battle.

Vilkas made a sound of frustration and ran in after him. It was a challenge to avoid the atronach's swinging arms while also defending against the remaining Silver Hand, who had two archers at the upper sides of the room. Edric went after those while Vilkas stayed below. Between the two—three—of them they made quick work of their opponents, though there were only five, leaving another five to account for. Edric beckoned the atronach to follow him and Vilkas let it go first, not eager to get in the thing's way, though it looked damaged. The wooden stairs creaked dangerously under its weight as it went up but they held.

By time they reached the open chamber where the remaining Silver Hand had holed up Vilkas had grown somewhat accustomed to the creature, though he stayed far away from it. The room was silent, and Edric cast his Detect Life spell once more and held up his full hand; five of the enemy remained. Vilkas raised his sword and drew a breath to yell a battle cry and bring the cowards out of hiding, and before a sound left his lips he was silenced by an arrow to the chest from an unseen archer up above.

He fell back with a choked scream, and Edric pointed at Vilkas, shouting at the atronach, "Guard him!"

Vilkas kept a grip on his sword, forcing himself to his feet again, sweat breaking out on his skin as the silver burned, much too close to his heart. He tried to get past the atronach but it blocked the passage into the larger part of the room. "Out of my way!" he cried weakly, but he might as well have not even been there for all the creature cared. He growled tiredly and let the sword droop as he leaned against a nearby stone wall, seeing hints of Edric fighting the remaining Silver Hand on his own. Another arrow came flying towards him but it struck the atronach instead, then he saw a bolt of lightning streak towards the archer, sending him flying.

That was the last magic Vilkas saw Edric use in the battle. As he watched the younger man fight, what he could see of it, he had to admire Edric's grace. The way he moved was like a dance, smooth and almost effortless, his braid and cloak flying about him, the placement of his feet precise as he moved around obstacles on the floor, deftly avoiding fallen bodies and stones alike. Vilkas had never seen anything like it. _The breath of Kyne, he thought. Edric's expression was one of intense concentration but held no fury, certainly nothing like the anger he had directed at Vilkas earlier that morning. The Silver Hand fell one by one, and when it was over Edric calmly cleaned his sword on a cloak then replaced his sword and came towards Vilkas. He watched the Dragonborn walk towards him and something about the way he moved made Vilkas' heart ache. Or maybe it was just the arrow._

Edric gathered purple magic into his hand then threw it at the frost atronach, which seemed to blow apart then vanish, making Vilkas gasp. Once it was gone he said roughly, "Get this thing out of me!"

"Come on," Edric murmured, taking Vilkas' sword from him when he couldn't raise his arms. He motioned for Vilkas to follow him further into the room, where sunlight was streaming down from a hole in the roof.

Vilkas wearily sat on a fallen stone block and tried to remove his cloak and gear but couldn't do it, every movement sending agony shooting through his chest. "Hold still," Edric quietly demanded. Vilkas did so, his eyes watering as every breath he took made the arrow grate against his ribs. He feared that his lung might be pierced, his breath short. He fought the urge to cough as Edric quickly and silently divested him of his helmet and gear.

"I can't get your chest plate off without breaking off the arrow," Edric stated.

"Do it," Vilkas whispered. Edric nodded. Vilkas squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the the stone he was sitting on, his heart pounding with dread, knowing that no matter how he hurt, what was coming was worse. He bit his lip against a scream as Edric in one motion gripped the wooden shaft in both hands then snapped it like a twig. He could feel tears running down his cheeks from the pain and didn't care. He had taken arrows before, but never in the chest, where it could get caught up in the bone. He couldn't think straight to figure how Edric was going to get it out. If he just pulled it out…

Edric began unbuckling the straps to Vilkas' cuirass, and though he was as gentle as possible it still made Vilkas cry out as it pulled on the shaft of the arrow. Edric unbuttoned the doublet that went under the armor then slid it off, jostling the arrow again. "Shit," he whispered. Vilkas looked down and saw blood bubbling up around the wound. Bubbling. Edric sat back on his heels, assessing the situation, then nodded and decisively said, "All right then."

"W-what?" Vilkas whispered. Edric didn't answer right away, sliding off his own pack and throwing off his cloak and weapons along with his gauntlets and helmet. The Dragonborn dug through his pack then brought out a small purple bottle. Vilkas had never seen a potion like it. The liquid inside glowed a lovely violet color, swirling hypnotically inside the glass.

"Drink this," Edric ordered.

"What is it?"

"Sleeping tree sap. It's going to sedate you a bit while temporarily increasing your health so I don't end up killing you."

"No," Vilkas said with a shake of his head. "No drugs."

"It's tree sap, dimwit, not skooma. It comes straight from a tree. I'm sure you've seen it, that glowing tree in the middle of a giant's camp, west of Whiterun." Vilkas nodded slightly. "It wears off completely afterwards and isn't addictive. I use it to help me fall asleep once in a while." Vilkas hesitated, and Edric narrowed his eyes and said in an ominous tone, "I could _make_ you drink it, wolf. You'd like that even less."

"Fine." Edric unstoppered the vial and held it out to Vilkas, who grimaced and took it, having no other choice. He drank the sickly-sweet contents down in one gulp, then he blinked as his vision began to blur and the world turned purple. "Whoa," he whispered. "Everything is purple." He touched Edric's forehead with a fingertip. "You're purple," he breathed.

Edric laughed, "Crazy, eh? Now lay back and hold still."

Edric helped him lay back on the slanted stone then got out a small knife and crawled over him to straddle his waist and hold him down, all in slow motion. Vilkas' vision swam, the pain something distant. Edric was warm, the spicy scent all around him as his braid fell to the side, tickling Vilkas' ribs. He made a sound of pain as he felt the knife cut into him, but it was bearable, the sleepy pleasure of the sap overriding everything else.

He winced as the knife cut again. He grabbed onto the nearest, easiest thing to hold onto, which happened to be Edric's thighs. He slid his hands along the leather, feeling the slender strength there. Edric glanced at him in surprise, his mouth falling open, and Vilkas whispered, "You're so pretty."

"Good grief, this is not the time," Edric said tiredly, then added in a mutter of distaste, "It'll _never_ be the time." He shook his head and continued what he was doing, frowning every so often as he glanced at Vilkas, who couldn't take his eyes off Edric's face. It didn't seem possible that a man could be so lovely. The planes of his face, the angle of his cheekbones and the line of his jaw, with the hint of a cleft in his chin… it was all so perfect, and those eyes, like two emeralds touched with peridot, and that sweet, pink little mouth with that plump bottom lip…and that smell, gods, that smell…

Edric squawked in alarm as Vilkas tried to sit up towards him, sniffing, and he pushed him back, demanding, "Lay the hell still, damn it! What's wrong with you?"

Vilkas did what he was told, mumbling sleepily, "You're cute when you're bossy."

"Shut the fuck up, for Shor's sake!"

Vilkas laughed, "Bossy little dragon."

"You're going to die if I don't get this out, idiot! You feel good now but it won't last much longer!"

Vilkas finally lay still and silent, some tiny voice of reason telling him that Edric was right. The same voice told him that he was going to feel like Nirn's greatest fool when the potion wore off, but he felt so content right now that he couldn't bring himself to care. He rubbed his thumbs along Edric's thighs and watched that sweet face as he held onto him, ignoring the jolts of pain in his chest as Edric cut out the silver-coated steel arrowhead. When it finally came out Edric examined it, making sure it was all there, then tossed it aside. The burning sensation ceased, though the pain was still there.

Edric's bloody hands glowed gold as he built the magic between them then let it go, and Vilkas felt a surge of warm, intense well-being go through him as the pain evaporated. The wound instantly closed as his strength came back, and he growled and gripped Edric's legs harder, pressing his groin against the firm little backside on top of him. Edric pushed against Vilkas' bare chest, a look of horrified alarm on his face.

"Come here, little one," Vilkas murmured as he slid an arm up Edric's back, the steel cold against his hand. "Let me taste you."

"No!" Vilkas growled, baring his teeth, and Edric pushed harder, grunting, "No. Means. No!" He broke free of Vilkas' grasp and sprinted away, and Vilkas pushed himself to his feet and began stumbling after him. Vilkas saw his hands glow green with paralyzing magic then Edric shook his head and let it die. The young man looked around then began to run towards a tilted column, and Vilkas stopped in his tracks in shock as Edric shouted _"WULD NAH!"_ and shot up and across to an inaccessible stone walkway, out of Vilkas' reach, where he crouched like a cat, glaring at Vilkas with a hurt expression.

"No fair, little…" He blinked as the effects of the sap began to quickly wear off. "Dragon…" Vilkas shuddered as his vision returned to normal and the feeling of slowness faded. Edric stared at him with his brow furrowed, his braid hanging down in front of him, his hands red with Vilkas' blood.

Vilkas lowered his eyes, his face burning, and turned away. Rage warred with humiliation and loss, making his fists clench. He stalked away, back to his gear, seeing his own blood everywhere. He supposed there was a sort of twisted balance in Edric saving his life as well as Farkas'. And just like his idiot brother, he hadn't been able to keep his hands off the Dragonborn. He hadn't been able to resist that smell, or that face, or the warm slender body on top of him, strong as a man but as lithe as a woman. He pulled on his bloody doublet, having no choice about it, and heard the soft thud of Edric dropping down from his perch. He closed his eyes, embarrassed beyond belief that he had forced Edric into using the thu'um to escape his advances. He couldn't fathom why Edric hadn't simply paralyzed him again, as he had been ready to do, unless Edric had pitied him, not wanting to drop him on his face or embarrass him again. Well, Vilkas had done a very handy job of embarrassing himself, without any outside assistance.

He kept his back to the Dragonborn as he heard the younger man going through the Silver Hands' gear, then the splashing of water as he no doubt found a canteen of water to wash his hands with. Well, there was absolutely no doubt now of who and what Edric was. None whatsoever. A flash of burnt, ruined face ran past his mind's eye, and it amazed Vilkas all over again that the mysterious healer had been able to fix the Dragonborn's damage so completely. It was the eye that really boggled his mind. He just couldn't get past that. That alone would have made him keep doubting, if he hadn't seen him use the thu'um. Vilkas couldn't really figure out why he had, instead of just dropping Vilkas on the floor as he deserved.

He went to pull on his cuirass then stopped, seeing the Skyforge steel plate punched inward. He sighed, his fledgling plan to hide what had happened to him dead before it even fully formed. Well, he should have to admit that Edric saved his life, and skillfully at that. It was only fair. And now he had a nice little scar near his heart to make sure he never forgot it.

"Let me see that." Vilkas glanced up and saw Edric nearby, his hand out, avoiding Vilkas' eyes. Vilkas handed over the armor and Edric sat down on the rock with it on his lap. He dug around in his pack and came out with a small repair hammer. Vilkas grimaced at the thought of how Eorlund would react to a whelp working on Skyforge steel. He wasn't about to fuss about it, remembering that Edric was most likely an expert smith if he had been able to alter ebony armor to suit his needs. He watched as the young man carefully hammered the steel back into place; the damage was still there, but there were no longer sharp edges of steel bending inward. That Silver Hand archer must have had one hell of a draw on that bow to do that kind of damage. "There," Edric said in satisfaction. He put the hammer away then stood, holding out the armor.

"Thank you," Vilkas mumbled. He pulled the cuirass on and began to buckle it.

"It didn't happen, all right?" Vilkas glanced at him and saw that Edric was still avoiding his eyes. "The… the sniffing, the chasing, the paralyzing, the arguing…it never happened. We bickered a little and that was it."

"Aye," Vilkas muttered with a nod, feeling intensely relieved. Farkas would not be happy at all to learn that his twin had come on to his little darling. Twice. That morning's dream came back to him as he buckled his armor, sending pangs of loss through him. No, Farkas would not at all be happy with Vilkas for what he had done, even if it had been done under the influence of beastblood. The blood wouldn't have driven him to it if he wasn't denying it. Farkas wasn't molesting or chasing Edric and he was the one infatuated with the young man.

Feeling a wave of relief, Vilkas replaced all his gear. Yes, that was what had driven him to his shameful behavior, and that was all. While he could appreciate another man's attractiveness, he wasn't what he considered a lover of men. He hadn't gotten into bed with another man in over ten years. His sights were set on Narri and that was it. His reaction to Edric was the beast's fault, the wolf sniffing at the dragon and finding it pleasing, nothing more. Edric was a headstrong, annoying, lying little bastard. There was simply no reason to be attracted to him other than his looks and smell. Simple biology, yes.

With their gear back in place Edric lead the way out of the room. Vilkas was more than happy to leave it behind.

It quickly became apparent as they fought their way through the next level of Dustman's Cairn that the dying lad had lied about there being only twenty-three Silver Hand in the barrow. By time they finished up they had taken out thirty-four altogether. Vilkas felt no shame in admitting that he would have probably been screwed if he had been in the company of one of the other whelps, and even another member of the Circle would have been at risk due to the silver weapons. Another member of the Circle would have had to shapeshift to deal with the situation. It was also becoming apparent that the fragment of Wuuthrad might not be here; they had searched every body and found no sign of it.

The size of the barrow was starting to get aggravating by time they came upon a mother frostbite spider guarding half a dozen egg sacs. Edric dispatched her quickly with several firebolts, then he began systematically burning the eggs, a look of distaste on his face. When he edged close to the big dead spider then hurried around it, Vilkas said in amusement, "Don't tell me you are afraid of spiders."

"I don't particularly like them," Edric admitted primly. "I can manage, but no, I don't like them. It made the Shor's Stone job rather unpleasant. Both times."

"Farkas is terrified of them. I cannot count how many nights I've been awakened by him begging me to get one out of his room, only to find a tiny little house spider on the wall."

Edric laughed, "Eh, that's cute." He lit up his hand with fire and said, "That's what this is good for. Don't have to get anywhere near them." He let the fire die. "I could manage before a few years ago. I had a ah, traumatic experience. In Shroud Hearth Barrow. Biggest mama spider I've ever seen had some dark elf guy wrapped up in there. She poisoned me and got me down on the ground, and when I killed her she fell right on top of me. I was trapped there until the poison wore off. Gah!" He shuddered and rubbed his arms, and Vilkas could see the goose bumps there.

"Don't tell Farkas about that. Ever." Edric laughed and nodded in agreement.

They ran across several more draugr before they reached the final chamber, and Edric put out his arm. The young man's right hand lit up in lavender then he motioned to the crypts. Vilkas looked past him at the large room lined with sarcophagi and felt a chill go up his spine; no doubt every single one held a dormant draugr. "Quietly," Edric whispered. "This is the end chamber, so if the fragment is around, it's here."

"It's possible it was never here." Edric shrugged. The two men crept across the floor, and Vilkas counted roughly a dozen tombs lining the wall. Better draugr than Silver Hand, though the werewolf hunters couldn't use the thu'um.

They reached the end of the tomb, and when Vilkas realized that the engraved tomb marker at the end was a word wall that contained a word of power he held his breath, waiting to witness what few if any other living souls had: the Dragonborn learning a new component to a dragon shout. When nothing happened and Edric didn't even glance at the engraving Vilkas felt a sudden realization that made him feel alternately enraged and baffled: Edric had been here before.

"Damn you," Vilkas hissed. "Damn you to Oblivion!" That was how Edric knew this was the final chamber. That was how Edric knew that lever way back at the beginning was a trap. That was how he had navigated so surely through the entire place, why he hadn't bothered to look in any treasure chests or urns. He had already thoroughly pilfered the entire place at some point in his sordid career.

"Hm?" Edric glanced at him, but before Vilkas could say anything more Edric grinned at him and plucked something off the table in front of him, drawing his sword at the same time.

The crypts began to pop open, and Vilkas roared in fury as Edric ran past him, his body enveloped in a cloak of sunfire. No more than three or four draugr came out at once, so the two of them made quick work of the room, but Vilkas was seething the entire time. No, Edric had never lied to him, that was true, but he sure left a hell of a lot out of every goddamn conversation.

When they found themselves coming out of a long, hidden stone passage into the initial room that exited the crypt, Vilkas shouted in anger and turned on Edric, who gazed at him calmly. "You have been here before!" Vilkas yelled.

"Well…yes."

"When!"

"Early fall of 201, I reckon. Almost exactly four years ago. Lydia and I were passing by on our way to Eldersblood Peak and thought there might be a word wall down here. I learned _yol."_

"What the hell is yol?" Edric turned his head to the side then took a deep breath and shouted _"YOL!"_ and Vilkas stumbled backward with a gasp as fire boiled out of the Dragonborn's mouth. "Holy fuck," he whispered. He remembered the fire shout, from the dragon fight near Rorikstead. Edric took another deep breath and closed his eyes, then his expression crumpled slightly before he reopened them. Vilkas frowned at him, wondering why he was shouting now, twice today, when he'd told Vilkas earlier that he hadn't shouted since he had gotten healed. He wondered if the urge to shout was anything like the urges the beastblood gave, if every use of it made it that much harder not to use it the next time.

"I probably shouldn't have done that," Edric murmured. "Bad habit to get into." He drew himself up and patted his chest. "I've got the fragment. After we leave here…I'm not saying another word about what I am. I keep your dirty little secrets, you keep mine. Deal?"

Vilkas struggled with it before muttering, "Fine." There was so much Vilkas wanted to ask him, about the things he had done and seen, what it was like to be Dragonborn. Then again Vilkas didn't want to get any more familiar with the whelp. Whelp. Yes, that was all Edric was. It was best if that was all Vilkas thought of him as: the whelp who had come along and upended everything. The whelp who threatened to destroy the plans Vilkas and his brother had agreed upon twenty years ago.

As they exited the barrow Edric tossed the ridiculous horned helmet aside and asked, "So, did I pass?"

Vilkas didn't hesitate in answering. "Aye. You behaved honorably. I will vouch for you before the Circle." Edric gave him a bright smile that was almost blinding in its beauty. Vilkas tore his eyes away and stomped up the stairs, the helpless anger returning. It was familiar, comforting in its own way. He would return home and admit that the whelp had behaved with honor, even in his use of magic, then Edric would be only another annoying newblood underfoot.

They fed the horses a few handfuls of grain then rode them down the hill towards a stream that flowed there. While the horses drank deeply, Edric took out a sliver of soap and began washing his hands and face, using a knife to clean under his fingernails. Vilkas watched this with irritation and confusion. There was such fastidiousness in it that it was as if he was a cat compulsively grooming itself, or a bird preening. Or…a dragon. He had heard people say that dragons had been seen preening themselves atop their word walls or mountain peaks.

When Edric stood up looking fresh and smiled at him Vilkas growled and turned away. They let the horses graze a bit longer then headed back to Whiterun, neither saying a word. Vilkas didn't look at him even once on the way back, and neither spoke other than Vilkas asking him as dusk fell whether they should push on the extra couple hours or camp near the Western Watchtower. Edric opted for heading on, though they got off their horses to walk them the rest of the way. Vilkas was relieved, wanting his own bed tonight, his own room where he could shut the door and lock it and be alone. He didn't want to sleep near the whelp and hear him breathing or humming softly to himself. Forget it. He wanted to put this entire trip behind him and pretend a good many parts of it never happened. He prayed that his dreams let him do that, and that it was a long time before he tasted porridge again.


	14. Chapter 14

**_Part 2 of the last chapter, that evening..._**

* * *

**Farkas – 1st of Frostfall, 4E205**

The sound of his brother's door slamming shut woke Farkas from a light sleep, and he launched himself out of bed and out of his room. He went out to the hall and looked up and down, not seeing or hearing Edric anywhere, so he went back to knock on Vilkas' door, unable to help feeling worried. Had Vilkas come back alone? Did something happen to Edric? Did Vilkas' attitude push Edric into leaving? Did Vilkas not find Edric honorable enough to be a Companion, maybe because the younger man had used magic?

Vilkas yanked the door open, looking filthy and exhausted, and Farkas opened his mouth to ask how things went when his eyes landed on the bloody hole in his brother's armor. It looked as if it had been repaired to keep the sharp edges from digging in. It was Vilkas' blood though. He smelled as if he was soaked in it. "What happened?" Farkas asked with deep worry as he came in.

"I nearly died," Vilkas spat. "Silver fucking Hand. It was a setup." Farkas growled with mixed worry and anger. "It seems we both owe the whelp our lives. He cut out the arrow and healed me then repaired my armor enough to get us home. Between the two of us we killed thirty-four of them."

"Shit," Farkas breathed in amazement.

"Not all at once, but still…" Vilkas rubbed his face, which was coated in smeared warpaint and splattered blood. "The whelp is a mage. Battlemage, spellsword, whatever you call it. I would have liked to know that before we left." Farkas had no response to that; Vilkas hadn't exactly been approachable beforehand. Vilkas huffed and waved off his twin's obvious worry as he continued, "No matter. He still behaved honorably, and I will sponsor him before the Circle in the morning."

Farkas smiled and said, "That's great. Thank you, Vilkas." He pulled his brother into a hug, and Vilkas sighed and patted his back then gently shoved him away. Farkas looked down at his sleeping tunic and none of the grime and dried blood seemed to have rubbed off. "So you're okay, then? He's okay?"

"He's fine. Took a small cut on the arm from draugr, nothing more. I feel fine, just tired," Vilkas muttered. "It was a nasty wound. Took a silver arrow to the chest, barely missed my heart."

Farkas whined with fresh worry, a stab of fear going through him at the thought of losing his brother. As much as he felt for Edric, losing Vilkas would always be the greater loss. Vilkas had always been there. Always. The two of them had never spent more than a week or two apart their whole lives. They had shared a womb, a crib, a bed, until their early teens, and had shared a room until joining the Circle together.

"He dosed me with this…weird tree sap. It sedated me enough to get the arrow out, but…eh, it was weird. Everything turned purple and slow."

"Purple and slow," Farkas muttered in bewilderment. "No shit. Well did you guys get along?"

Vilkas shrugged. "I won't lie, we butted heads a few times. Bickered. I suppose he held his tongue as well as could be expected, considering who he was stuck with. I…did not make it easy on him."

Farkas sighed, "Vilkas." His brother's admission was surprising, though.

"We got along better than I expected. He won my respect, magic or not."

Relieved, Farkas said, "I…guess that's all I can ask. So was the fragment of Wuuthrad there?"

"Aye. The whelp has it. He will give it to Kodlak in the morning." He stripped off his gauntlets and tossed them next to a loaded plate of food, glancing at Farkas as if he wanted to say something else, then he shook his head curtly and remained silent.

Farkas let it go and helped Vilkas with his armor, not about to provoke his twin when he seemed to be in a subdued, not unpleasant mood. When the cuirass came off, the dried blood soaking the front of the doublet made Farkas grumble with anxiety.

Vilkas patted his brother's shoulder and said, "I told you, the whelp took care of it. Even with the silver there is barely a scar there. See?" He slid off the doublet and pointed to the scar on his chest, two inches away to his right from his breastbone.

It was much smaller than Farkas expected, a clean thin line not even two inches long. Well, Farkas himself had gotten all sliced to hell with silver that one night and had little more than marks like that to show for it. Edric was a good healer, and the beastblood had helped Farkas to survive, and recover. Farkas considered it probably wasn't the best idea to remind Vilkas of that.

Vilkas tossed the smelly garment aside and continued with quiet worry, "If it had been Edric…" He shook his head. "He should _not_ be in this line of work. All of us rely on healing potions or priests' magic. Every sellsword or mercenary I've ever known does. Every guard and soldier does."

"I know," Farkas mumbled. It made him worried sick to think of Edric taking a serious wound, and taking one like Vilkas had suffered? Edric would be dead, and that was the end of it. He would've died in Vilkas' arms and… He took a deep breath then bit his lip, feeling a swell of grief and anxiety at the thought. It was pretty much unbearable, almost as unbearable as losing his brother would be.

"It was why I said to hell with it and told him to use magic if he felt he must. I didn't know what else to do, especially after it became apparent that it truly was a trap. Thirty-four fucking hunters," he said in aggravation. "If anyone but Edric had been with me it would have been a much closer call." He snorted bitterly. "No, it would have been a disaster, after I took that arrow. He conjured a frost atronach to smash in a door that was barricaded, and he set it to guard me after I was wounded. The thing was creepy as hell. I have never been so close to a Daedra before. I could feel the cold pouring off it, and it was immense, nearly as tall as a giant." Vilkas shuddered in distaste. "I do not care if the thing was guarding me or not, I never want to be anywhere near one ever again."

"Wow," Farkas said in amazement. It was shocking to hear his brother speak so calmly about magic, something Vilkas had always detested. Maybe he was just tired. Farkas supposed if anything would change his twin's mind, or at least make him tone it down, it would be something like this. Farkas found magic unsettling too, but he trusted Edric. Maybe Vilkas finally did now too, at least a little. He smiled at his twin and said, "I'm glad you two are okay. And got along all right. He told me before you guys left that he just wants to get along with you." Vilkas frowned the slightest bit, almost looking guilty, then he cleared his throat and looked away, continuing to strip off his armor. Farkas was going to ask what was wrong, but he would rather get it from Edric, who wouldn't throw a possible fit about the question. "You gonna take a bath before bed? You stink." He wrinkled his nose and waved his hand in front of it. "Bad. Why do you smell so bad after just two days?" It was a certain wolfish muskiness and something else he couldn't put his finger on, but whatever it was it reeked, more than the blood did.

"It was stressful."

Vilkas' clipped tone and tight expression told Farkas it was time to leave. "Okay," he said with a nod. "Good night." Vilkas grunted and Farkas left it at that, leaving his brother's room and closing the door.

He returned to his own room and waited until he heard Vilkas leave and go to the bathing room. He had debated just going to bed, but he couldn't stand the thought of not seeing Edric tonight. Not making sure he was okay. He walked on bare feet to the whelps' quarters, the others asleep, but Edric's bed was still made and empty. Farkas glanced down the hall towards Kodlak's quarters but that door was also open and the old man was no doubt asleep, late as it was.

Farkas headed upstairs, the door between floors left open to let the air flow through, and he felt his heart swell to see Edric sitting at the table with his back to the stairs, still in his armor, his sword and pack at the side of his chair. Farkas walked over to him and saw he was nursing a bottle of mead as he ate. His plate had the remains of salmon, greens and potatoes, along with a slice of bread thick with butter and honey; it was fairly obvious Tilma had fixed it for him, since it was identical to the plate of food Vilkas had in his room. Edric looked tired, but healthy, not drawn and stressed out as Vilkas had been.

Edric looked up at him and smiled in greeting. "Farkas."

"Hey," Farkas said warmly. The young man patted the seat to his right and Farkas happily took it. Edric looked at him and Farkas smiled, clasping his hands between his legs to keep them from reaching out and grabbing his beloved in relief. "I'm glad you and Vilkas are okay," Farkas stated.

"Mm, it was dicey there for a bit," Edric said with a slight shake of his head. "Did you talk to your brother?" Farkas made a sound of assent. "It was a trap. The Cairn was infested with Silver Hand. Got the fragment though."

"Vilkas said you saved his life."

"Did he? That's nice." The odd tone to Edric's voice as he continued eating worried Farkas. "What else did he say?"

"That you two argued a little but got along okay. He admitted he was partly at fault."

"Partly!" Edric said with a short laugh. "Okay. I'll take partly." Farkas bit his lip, his frown deepening. Edric patted his shoulder then squeezed it. "No worries. We got along better than I thought we would." His eyebrows then rose and he squeezed Farkas' shoulder again, more slowly this time, as if testing something. Edric's hand fell away and he said with a sly smile, "Oh my." Farkas laughed, slightly embarrassed but flattered. Edric took a drink then set the bottle down with a clank and reached down beside his chair, coming back up with a sight that made Farkas whistle. "Yeah, take a look at this beauty. Fought a draugr for it. Biggest son of a bitch I've ever seen. Even bigger than you."

Farkas took the ebony battleaxe from him, the weight taking him by surprise. "Heavy. Beautiful though, wow." He admired it for a few moments then handed it back, and when Edric came back up from laying it down Farkas' eyes landed on the bandage around his upper right arm. He lightly touched the edge of it and softly said, "I'm glad this is all that happened to you. I was scared when I saw the hole in Vilkas' armor."

"I was scared when I saw the hole in his armor," Edric replied.

"Was it as bad as he said?"

Edric shook his head. "Nah. I mean, it was no laughing matter. I thought for sure it was going to be more than I could handle, but once I got his armor off and took a look the arrow wasn't as deep in as I'd thought. I'm sure it hurt like hell though, and as it was I had to dose him with sleeping tree sap so I could cut the arrow out. Healed up pretty well though. You guys are tough." He picked up his fork and winked at Farkas. "Vilkas doesn't need to know that though. If he thinks I saved his life, that's all for the good."

"Yeah, I reckon so." Farkas let his hand fall away, frowning. "This Silver Hand thing is getting out of control," he muttered. "Stalking us in our own backyard, setting up traps… We've gotta do something about it."

Edric bit his lip, fiddling with his fork, then he murmured, "I think Skjor and Aela have been."

Farkas grunted. "It would explain where they go sometimes." The two were sometimes gone for several days at a time, saying they had a job to do, but they never explained what job. Njada thought they were lovers, but the twins and Kodlak knew better. Aela had no interest in taking a permanent mate, though they knew she took lovers outside the pack as she saw fit, and she had mentioned from time to time that she wanted children at some point; she was only a few years older than Edric so she still had some time, but she wouldn't want kids with an old man. And everyone would be able to tell if she was fooling around with Skjor, or at least the werewolves would be able to tell. Aela definitely wouldn't want to take a mate that was nearly old enough to be her father. It was one thing to fool around once a year, but she didn't want an old man for keeps.

He watched Edric drink as they sat in silence, and Farkas suddenly worried that maybe he was too old for Edric. It seemed like he saw more gray hairs every month, more small lines at the corners of his eyes, while Edric's face was smooth and unlined, perfect except for the shiny pink scars on his right cheek and the slash across his nose. Farkas didn't even notice them anymore. They were just part of who Edric was, though Farkas was certain there was a terrible story behind them. He couldn't imagine just what kind of opponent would be strong or fast enough to do that kind of damage.

Edric looked up and saw Farkas watching him, looking troubled. "What's wrong?" Edric asked.

Farkas shook his head, giving Edric a tiny smile of reassurance. He supposed it didn't matter how old either of them were. Just as Kodlak had said, when you found love you had to take it, no matter where or when it came. Edric gazed into his eyes for a long moment, making Farkas' heart start to beat more quickly. He didn't think the other man had ever held his gaze so long.

"What color were your eyes before?"

Farkas blinked in surprise at the question. "Uh…blue. Light blue. Me and Vilkas." He then realized that if Edric joined the Circle and took the blood that his pretty green eyes would turn silver as well. The thought of that actually bothered him a little. He said with quiet regret, "I think Aela and Skjor want you to join the Circle. Become one of us, one of the pack."

Edric sighed and nodded. "I gathered as much." He picked at his food then looked sideways at Farkas, who was gazing at him anxiously. "Do _you_ think I should? Take the blood, I mean."

"I don't know," Farkas admitted. "I mean…" He shook his head. "I can't be…uh, what's the damn word—"

"Objective?"

"Yeah, that."

"How so?"

He leaned his elbow on the table and looked at his fingernails, just to have something to look at other than the object of his fixation. His face warming, he muttered, "If uh, if you let me, um, court you, and we end up, you know, together…if you took the blood we would end up…we would…bond. Mate permanently to each other. It's…it's what werewolves do. Werewolf couples. The pack structure here… it isn't how most packs operate, from what Aela says. She says real packs are like families, a few mated pairs and their pups, uh, kids I mean. Aela, well, she's really devoted to Hircine. She says that the bond, it's one of Hircine's gifts to us." Aela didn't want it for herself, and she had always been clear that it was risky sleeping with other werewolves, because if you connected too deeply you could end up with something permanent that neither partner had intended.

"Oh." The sound was tiny, bewildered.

"That's why we have to be careful during Aela's seasons: she doesn't want to bond to any of us, and none of us want to with her either, because we consider her a sister. The spring thing we do, I guess in a normal pack females stop going into season once they get a permanent mate, or at least it doesn't happen quite the same way. I don't know, it confuses the hell out of me, and the thought of being stuck with Aela forever…no thanks. But…with you, I uh, I wouldn't be able to help it, and if you cared for me back you wouldn't be able to help it either. It would just…happen."

It was quiet for a while, so long it made Farkas nervous, and he was about to look up when Edric asked, "And then what?"

"Uh, well, we'd always be together. Even when we were apart. Aela knows a lot more about it than me, 'cause she's the pack's lorekeeper. The females of the pack usually are. But I remember her telling me that she didn't want to be tied to anyone else like that. Soul-tied. Able to feel their strong emotions, or when they get hurt, or…die."

Edric looked astonished when Farkas finally glanced up at him. The younger man was staring at the fire, his eyes wide. Edric finally asked, "We'd be able to feel each other?" Farkas made a sound of assent. "All the time?"

"Well, we'd always have the feeling the other one was there. Never alone. But we'd only feel the really strong emotions from time to time. That's what I gathered. You'll have to ask Aela." He looked a bit sheepish. "I uh, didn't pay attention to a lot of what she said. I didn't think it would ever matter." Not until Edric came long, and now Farkas wished he had listened to his pack sister.

"Never alone," Edric whispered.

Farkas nodded and Edric made a sound of grief, and to Farkas' sorrow he blinked as his eyes grew shiny. He knew Edric was lonely and had been for a year now. Maybe he had been before that too. Farkas still worried about what would happen in a couple weeks when the anniversary of the Battle of Solitude came around. Edric made another sound of unhappiness and picked up the bottle, draining it, then set it down hard and glared at the fire, his jaw clenched. Farkas didn't say anything, letting him work out whatever he was thinking, but it didn't seem good.

"I'd never be alone," Edric finally said in a faint voice.

"Never," Farkas said in agreement. "That's why Aela hates the idea of it. She's really solitary. Spent all that time alone out in the woods growing up with her dad, with no other kids or anyone around, except when they came into town to visit Gislun. But…I like the idea of it. It's what I want, with uh…with you. That connection, always there. We'd never be lonely. We'd always have each other." Edric didn't answer, seeming wounded somehow as he stared at the firepit, but Farkas didn't think he was the one who had wounded him.

Farkas let Edric wrestle with his thoughts for a few minutes, then he quietly ventured, "Maybe…you could spend your birthday with me, in a couple days?" He couldn't tolerate the thought of Edric spending it alone.

"I'd like that," Edric murmured with a nod. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath, seeming to… Farkas couldn't put it into words. It was like he was letting go of something. Edric then took in a deep breath, seeming decisive, and began to unbuckle his cuirass. Farkas helped him with the nearest side, wondering why Edric hadn't taken it off already. Edric set the plates aside then reached for another bottle of mead, but he stopped himself halfway then pulled his hand back and looked at Farkas.

Farkas smiled at him in approval, and Edric tried to smile back but couldn't seem to do it. "I don't want to pressure you into choosing," Farkas said, "but…I would take care of you. We could even get married someday and adopt some kids. I mean, we could do all that even if you didn't take the blood. It was what I intended, but knowing everyone wants you in the Circle, if you took the blood, that would make it just that one step better. No matter where we went or how far apart we were, we'd always be together." He caught himself and shook his head. "Sorry. I don't want you to choose because of me. I said I wouldn't pressure you and I meant it. I was just…explaining."

"I know."

"It's just that…" Farkas trailed off as Edric stood up between them then turned sideways and lowered himself into Farkas' lap. The Companion sat there in shock for a moment then put his arms around Edric's waist, his heart pounding. Edric made a soft sound of grief and put his arms around Farkas' neck, burying his face in Farkas' hair, and Farkas closed his eyes and whined before he could stop the wolfish sound from slipping out. He held Edric tightly, the scents rising from him making it nearly impossible to think straight, spice and sweat and leather and blood, even a hint of Vilkas, probably from when Edric had to remove the arrow. The smell was rich and sweet and savory and musky and it was all Farkas could do to keep his hands where they were, though he couldn't keep himself from hardening between them. Edric didn't seem to care, because it would be damn near impossible not to notice.

Farkas gently rubbed Edric's back when he heard the other man make another huffing sound of pain. "It'll be okay," Farkas whispered roughly. "I'll take care of you no matter what, beastblood or not, I swear." Edric didn't respond other than to hold him tighter, and that was response enough. At least he was confident now that Edric had made his choice, right here tonight, and it made his heart sing. Edric was going to let Farkas court him. Edric was a man and knew what sitting in a man's lap meant to that man. It wasn't a trivial thing. Farkas wasn't sure what had made Edric decide and wasn't about to ask. He knew better than to question everything, a lesson his twin still hadn't learned, and maybe never would.

"Ah, Farkas, Farkas…"

Farkas sighed happily at the soft murmur and squeezed Edric, making him grunt before Farkas quickly loosened his grip a bit. He couldn't believe how light and slender Edric was, nearly a hundred pounds lighter than Farkas, and it made him worry that he'd never be able to make love to Edric all the way without hurting him. Well, one thing at a time, and Edric's littleness made him all the more sweet and enticing. And there was always the chance that Edric didn't like to be on that end of things. Farkas liked to sometimes and wasn't afraid to admit it, but not every guy did.

"I probably stink," Edric murmured.

"No you don't," Farkas assured him.

Edric laughed slightly and said, "Well, you're a wolf, and dogs like smelly things."

Farkas laughed in response. Edric sighed and petted Farkas' hair, making the Companion close his eyes in contentment. This was just how it should be to have a mate: sitting quietly by the fire in the evening petting each other. Farkas was so happy right now he could hardly stand it. He had been sure he'd have to wait another two weeks at least, and here he was holding the one he loved.

"You sure smell better than Vilkas did," Farkas stated. "He's never smelled like that before, not after just a couple days."

"He took a fairly bad wound and thought he was dying. Probably just stress. He was pretty tense even before that happened."

Farkas hesitated, hearing an odd tone to Edric's voice. He asked, "Are you sure you two got along? You're not just saying that to make me feel better about it?" He could just imagine them doing that. Vilkas had seemed like he wanted to say more, had seemed like he was hiding something. Edric sighed, and Farkas muttered, "You two argued, didn't you."

"We only bickered a few times. He got mad when I first had to use magic. Bandits had the road blocked near Redoran's Retreat. I told him if he didn't want me using magic at all then I wasn't going to heal anyone anymore, because it's all the same magic. Then…" He sighed heavily, putting his chin on Farkas' shoulder. "I got mad and said some things I probably shouldn't have. He started it but I made it worse. We didn't talk the rest of the way there. Then he got mad when he realized my bow was enchanted, and said I couldn't be a mage and have any honor, and I told him that even mages go to Sovngarde. Then we went inside and started arguing _again_ about magic. I told him I wasn't about to let myself get crippled, and he started spouting off about honor again, and I told him _again_ that if he got hurt I wasn't going to heal him unless he got off my back about using magic."

Farkas grumbled. "I knew it." He just knew that the two of them had tried to keep it from him. Tried to protect him. It was a little insulting.

Edric petted his hair and soothed, "It wasn't as bad all around as you'd think. It was better than I thought it would be, actually." He ran his fingers through the back of Farkas' hair, making the Companion nearly purr with pleasure. Edric said in a sad, thoughtful tone, "It's too bad, though. Every so often…I could see who Vilkas used to be. Or who he could be, if he was cured. He just barely starts to let his guard down then _bam,_ the walls go back up."

"Yeah, I know," Farkas murmured sadly. He was all too familiar with the problem. Vilkas had always had an intense temperament, but it had gotten an edge to it when he had taken the beastblood, and for the last nearly eighteen years Vilkas had been a bit standoffish, demanding, frequently irritable. He had also been deeply loyal, committed to the Companions and the pack, but only with Farkas had he ever let those walls all the way down.

"Even though we argued, it was okay. We ah, cleared the air on a couple things, I think. After I took that cut on my arm he stopped fussing as much about the magic. I think he realized that if I didn't use it and got hurt that we would both be screwed. I could tell he was worried." He sat up in Farkas' lap, leaving his left arm around his neck. "Good thing you weren't there though. There was a big frostbite—"

"Gah!"

"I know, it was awful." He lowered his voice and admitted, "I hate frostbite spiders too. I really do."

"You do?" It was amazing that someone like Edric was afraid of spiders, like Farkas was. Though admittedly Farkas' fear had to be worse; he couldn't tolerate even the smallest spider lurking about. He had stopped looking up at Jorrvaskr's rafters decades ago, unable to handle the thought of all the spiders that had to be lurking up there in the cobwebs. They just had to be.

"Mm-hm. I always fry them from a distance or use a bow so I don't have to get near them."

Farkas nodded, suddenly aware of how close Edric's face was and the warmth of his bare arm around his neck. He then realized that unlike the scruffy Vilkas, Edric had come back from the job without a hint of beard on his face. Farkas lifted his hand, hesitating, then stroked his thumb along Edric's cheek. It was like velvet. Like a girl's. He then nodded, understanding. "You can't grow a beard," he murmured. Edric sighed and shook his head, though he didn't pull away from the touch. Farkas wasn't sure if it was just how Edric was or because of the healing this summer, though Farkas' bet was on the healer; he could see hair on Edric's arms and a hint of light chest hair coming out of the padded fur and leather vest that went under his armor. The softness of Edric's face combined with his long hair and slender frame made him seem the most exquisite thing in the world. Farkas whispered, "How can you be so beautiful."

Edric's lips parted as his expression softened. "You really think so?"

"I know so. You're so beautiful it's painful. Like it…it hurts to look at you sometimes, you're so handsome." Edric sighed, gazing at Farkas with a melting look that made it nearly impossible not to lean forward and kiss him. "You probably heard that all the time from your man."

"No, not…really."

The sad expression as Edric lowered his eyes made Farkas huff. "Well, you should, because you are. He uh, he never told you?" Edric grimaced in pain, and Farkas opened his mouth to apologize when Edric put his fingertips on Farkas' lips, shaking his head.

"No, it's okay." Edric's lips pursed then he said with quiet regret, "I told you he was straight, pretty much, but when I saw him I didn't care. He was…like a summer's day. Big and blond and blue-eyed. You just couldn't get any more the typical Nord than him, and he was a Stormcloak, so…he was _really_ Nord, old-fashioned Nord. He thought it was cute, the way I chased after him." He gave a soft laugh, but it didn't reach his eyes. "He grew to love me, but I don't think he ever…he never really _fell_ in love with me. And there's a difference." Farkas nodded. "It was a mistake on my part, I know that, but at the time…I saw something I wanted, and I didn't care what I had to do to get it. But you can't do that with people. It isn't right."

"But he still loved you," Farkas stated. It really was impossible that the guy hadn't loved Edric.

"Yeah, he did, I know he did, but…it didn't reach all the way in. He never _told_ me. Sometimes when I told him he would say, 'Aw, me too' or…or…" Edric took in a shuddering breath and stopped, unable to go on.

Farkas clucked his tongue, his heart aching, and murmured, "Well I love you, and I did from the very start." He'd fallen in love before, but this was different. It was _more,_ and he was no longer afraid to say it to Edric, or let him see it. He brushed loose hairs away from Edric's forehead, a mix of snow white and honey brown. Edric gazed at him with a heartbroken expression, but he lifted his own hand and placed it on Farkas' cheek. The hand was slightly rough, and warm. It was wonderful.

"I saw it when you gave me the hawk. It…it scared me but I couldn't stop thinking about it. That maybe everything could be okay, if I just…gave myself more time." He huffed unhappily. "And I didn't want to. But the things you did and told me the other night…"

"When I acted like a dumb dog?" Farkas muttered. That had not been his shining moment, and the memory of it still embarrassed him. He wasn't exactly eager for a repeat of it.

Edric shook his head, putting his other arm back around Farkas' neck, his expression solemn. "No. What you did, it was…it was _real._ It was all you. It made me believe, and the rabbit, I knew what it meant before you ever told me." He smiled hesitantly at him, playing with the back of Farkas' dark hair. "I just hope you aren't built the way you are in wolf form or my inability to heal may end up a real problem." Farkas made a sound of embarrassment and Edric laughed.

"You're shameless," Farkas muttered in amazement. Edric laughed again, more fully, and his smile was so stunning that it took all Farkas' willpower not to kiss him. Edric pecked him on the cheek then slid off his lap, leaving behind a swirl of scents and quickly dissipating warmth that left him feeling bereft. Edric had kissed him first though. Even if it had been the tiniest little peck, that didn't matter.

Edric started gathering up his gear and Farkas moved to help him, glad he wasn't still standing at attention. Though his beloved had felt nice in his lap, it had been hard to keep it up when he didn't sense any desire from the other man and could see how sad he was.

"What do you want to do on my birthday?" Edric asked.

"Oh. Uh, I don't know. Whatever you want. It's your birthday."

"I was thinking…I have something I need to do for Danica, in Eastmarch. Something I promised her the other day when we were talking in the temple. There's a cave in the volcanic tundra, where all those hot springs are just north of Darkwater Crossing, that might hold a cure for the Gildergreen."

"No shit," Farkas said in amazement. He hadn't thought that the dead old tree had any hope of coming back at all. "So you want to go there?"

"Well, not for my birthday specifically, but the area around there is nice. Lots of hot springs. We could camp there for a few days. Get away from here for a while, just you and me."

Farkas made a smothered _ngh_ sound at the thought, not sure he was reading the situation right, but when Edric glanced at him from underneath his lashes and smiled shyly he realized the other man really did mean what Farkas thought he meant. Edric. Camp. Hot springs. Just the two of them. For days. Ah gods.

"Okay," Farkas whispered, the sound coming out in a croak. "When…uh, do you want…to go?"

"Day after tomorrow?"

"Yes," Farkas agreed, trying not to pant the word. Edric smiled warmly at him, his cheeks flushed in the low light, then he lowered his eyes and hoisted his pack and sword while Farkas picked up the axe and the cuirass. His eyes lit on the bandage and he asked, "You're sure your arm is okay?"

"Yeah, just a scratch. Vilkas did a good job cleaning it up and wrapping it. I heal pretty quickly even without magic. I'll be fine."

They headed to the stairs and saw Vilkas coming up, freshly bathed and empty plate in hand, and Edric nodded to him while Vilkas grunted. The way the two avoided each other's eyes worried Farkas, but Vilkas grunted at him too and wouldn't look at him when he greeted him so he let the matter go. He quietly set Edric's things by his bed, trying not to disturb the others, and settled for a quick pet of Edric's hair before leaving for his own room.

He locked his door, wary of Vilkas' mood and not wanting him to just bust in, considering Farkas had to deal with certain things before he could get any sleep. It came easily, the memory of a warm, good-smelling, slender body in his lap all the help he needed. Farkas fell asleep content. Everything was going to be great from here on out. Tomorrow Edric would become a full-fledged Companion, a true shield-brother, and in a couple days Edric would become his lover and he could start courting him properly. Someday Edric might even take the beastblood and they would form a bond, and Kodlak might find a cure and they could get Vilkas taken care of, and everything would be fine then. He was sure of it.

* * *

_**A/N: The Circle in this story are more wolfish than in my last story, and I'm trying to convey the feeling of werewolves in general having more of a 'culture'. While there may be rogue, feral werewolves roaming about the countryside, I prefer the notion that they naturally form family groups (packs), both for company and protection, as both people and wolves do, with practices and behaviors that are a mix of the two. The Circle in this story hasn't followed much of that however due to being in the heart of a city and part of a mercenary guild. I don't want to over-explain it at this point, just sort of a disclaimer. Other writers have delved into such matters much more skillfully than I can, or will.**_

_**Thank you thank you to all the recent Favorites and Follows. Every time I see a new one it makes me unspeakably happy. :)**_


	15. Chapter 15

**Farkas – 2nd of Frostfall, 4E205**

Farkas and Vilkas stayed kneeling on either side of Kodlak as Aela and Skjor came into the Harbinger's sitting room with Edric between them. The old man's breathing was raspy, labored, painful to listen to. Kodlak smiled proudly at Edric, who smiled back briefly, looking somewhat nervous. Farkas found it cute that his intended was even able to get nervous. The other junior members of the Companions gathered just inside the doors to witness the event; Ria looked happy, though maybe it was mostly because she wouldn't be the newest whelp anymore, Athis and Njada looked neutral, but Torvar scowled, his arms folded, glaring at Edric's back. It made Farkas' blood boil, and he did his best to keep it off his face and turn his gaze away from the blonde.

Kodlak's grasp on his shoulder caught his attention, and he and his brother helped Kodlak stand, keeping their hands below his elbows to keep him upright. "Brothers and sisters," Kodlak rasped weakly, "today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold. This young man has endured, has challenged, and has shown his valor." He looked around the Circle. "Who will speak for him?"

Vilkas hesitated, glancing at Edric, and for a few seconds Farkas feared his brother wouldn't do it, that he would let his moodiness get the better of him and refuse to sponsor Edric. Kodlak probably feared that as well, from how tense he suddenly grew. Surely Vilkas wouldn't do that. He had been in a tolerable mood last night after his return and hadn't hesitated to praise Edric, or at least for Vilkas it had been praise. How his mood could shift so suddenly overnight was baffling, but then it could shift within minutes, so maybe it wasn't so surprising. Regardless, it was upsetting, and if Vilkas wouldn't sponsor Edric then the young man would have to go on another Trial, with a different member of the Circle.

Vilkas finally muttered, "I will stand witness."

Kodlak relaxed and asked, "Would you raise your shield in his defense?"

"Aye."

Farkas frowned, seeing Kodlak do so as well, as did Aela and Skjor. There was more to the ritual words, much more. Vilkas was answering, but only enough to answer. It felt like he was cheating Edric of his moment. Edric seemed unaware of what was going on, his eyes on Kodlak. Ria and Athis glanced at each other while Njada's eyes narrowed, but Torvar was smirking slightly. Smugly.

The Harbinger cleared his throat and went on, "And would you raise your sword in his honor?"

"Aye."

Kodlak grumbled then asked in irritation, "And would you raise a mug in his name?"

"Aye."

The word was practically spit out. Skjor seemed furious, his single eye burning with anger, and Aela was looking at Vilkas like he was out of his mind. Farkas couldn't figure out why the hell Vilkas had agreed to sponsor Edric if he was going to ruin the ceremony by basically giving lip service to it. Vilkas knew the history and traditions of the Companions as well as old Vignar did, and here he was ruining the induction ceremony.

"Are all of the Circle in agreement?" Five ayes answered the Harbinger. "Then the judgment of the Circle is complete. His heart beats with the fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers of Atmora. Let it beat with ours, that the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call."

"It shall be so," the Circle intoned.

Kodlak let go of Vilkas to hold out his hand to Edric, who came and took it. Kodlak weakly embraced him, murmuring, "Well son, you're one of us now. I know you will not disappoint." There was relief in the old man's voice. Edric whispered something in the old man's ear, so softly even Farkas couldn't understand it, and Kodlak squeezed his eyes shut and held him close. He patted Edric on the back then let go, his silver eyes shining, and Edric leaned up and kissed him on either cheek. Kodlak called to the whelps, "We will feast tonight in honor of our new shield-brother." The junior members nodded and turned away, and Kodlak squeezed Edric's shoulder and nodded for him to follow the others. As the twins gently lowered him back into his seat he said to Aela, "Close the doors."

Once it was shut the Huntress said heatedly to Vilkas, "You make a mockery of our rituals!"

Skjor added in disgust, "Why the hell did you even bother, Vilkas? I can only be glad the newblood didn't realize it was supposed to go any other way."

Kodlak muttered, "He did realize. He was just too gracious to show it and make matters worse." He growled at Vilkas, "You have cheated a shield-brother of his just dues."

Vilkas glared at nothing in particular, his jaw clenched, and when Farkas didn't say anything Vilkas spat at his twin, "Well, aren't you going to come to your little darling's defense?"

Farkas made a sound of mixed hurt and confusion and anger as he answered, "Edric doesn't need me to defend him, 'cause he isn't being attacked. And neither are you, which you'd realize if you ever pulled our head out of your ass."

"He is a fucking mage!" Vilkas shouted.

"He's a spellsword," Skjor corrected in crisp tones. "I fought alongside plenty of spellswords and battlemages while in the Legion, and in the years after that. It is not a dishonorable path."

"It is not our path!"

Farkas protested, "Would you rather have him dead? He said you two worked all that out!"

"Well maybe I changed my mind!"

Aela sneered, "Not a difficult thing to do when it's that unstable." Vilkas growled at her, his teeth bared. "I saw the wound on his arm. I also saw the hole in your armor when you took it up to Eorlund this morning, so I talked to the whelp about what happened in Dustman's Cairn. I suppose it's fine and dandy for him to use magic to save you but not to protect himself?"

Vilkas put his hands to his head and yelled, "What in Oblivion is wrong with all of you? We have never allowed magic—"

"That is not true," Kodlak stated. Vilkas blinked, staring at him in disbelief. Farkas, Aela and Skjor looked astonished as well. Kodlak sighed, "In delving into our histories over the last year and a half, I have found things that…were not easy to come to terms with. Beyond what I found out about the Circle's curse. This has always been a warrior band, for over four thousand years, however it wasn't until after the Oblivion crisis that the Companions, and Nords in general, began to shun magic. We Nords have never been magically strong as a race, but we did not always fear and distrust magic as we do now. Edric has verified this from his studies at the College, and...other places. I am not comfortable around the Clever Craft, but that is my own problem, a lack of familiarity." He narrowed his eyes at Vilkas and went on, "You told me this morning that he was honorable in his use of it. You told me it had been necessary to save both your lives."

"The Companions used to use magic," Vilkas said in a tone of betrayal.

"Not as a whole, no, but until two hundred years ago there were always one or two members who could wield battle magic, in addition to being warriors. There was always at least one who could heal and at least one who knew alchemy. We were stronger than we are now, once upon a time. Vignar has told me this more times than I can count. His grandfather, and Eorlund's, was both master smith and a Companion here and told him tales that were never written down on paper. Go ask him if we once had shield-siblings who were able to wield magic and he will tell you the uncomfortable truth. And it is an uncomfortable one, I do not deny that."

Kodlak began to cough, and Farkas knelt by him to hold him up while Vilkas stared blankly at nothing. Farkas was just as stunned by the revelation as any of his shield-siblings. It was a relief to hear though, in a way. It meant if Edric occasionally had to use magic to keep safe then he would get less grief about it. Farkas could get used to it. He supposed he _had_ to get used to it, if he and Edric were going to be together. He loved Edric and that meant accepting the whole package, magic and all.

Aela murmured, "I…had no idea."

Skjor quietly said, "It isn't something most Companions are going to accept easily. I can manage it because I've seen firsthand how magic can be used honorably. No one would be asked to practice anything that goes against their beliefs, but I won't have the whelp harassed for using magic to keep his skin intact." He looked at Vilkas and continued in a wary tone, "Edric is our shield-brother now. You vouched for his honor with Kodlak. If you cannot be trusted to stick to your own statements…"

Aela flatly asked, "Did he behave honorably or not?"

Vilkas' jaw clenched then he spat, "He did."

"Then what the hell is the problem?" Vilkas' eyes slowly moved over to Farkas, and Aela rolled her eyes as she said in exasperation, "Not this again!"

"Vilkas," Farkas growled in warning. If his twin went there in front everyone Farkas was going to let him have it. He was going to let Vilkas have it and there would be no going back. He didn't want that to happen. Not now, not ever. He hoped to the Nine that Vilkas didn't push him that far. Unlike Vilkas, it took a lot to make Farkas truly angry, and unlike Vilkas when he got truly angry he didn't snap out of it quickly.

Skjor stated firmly, "We aren't going there. Every man and woman here is their own. This is not even up for discussion. It is _no_ one's business other than those involved, and like it or not Vilkas you are _not_ involved."

"And who the hell are you to say who is involved or not!" Vilkas said angrily.

"As of today, he is our new Harbinger," Kodlak stated. Aela gasped as Farkas went still and Vilkas stiffened in shock. "My health is such that I can no longer fulfill my role here. I will make it official tonight. The feast will celebrate both Edric's and Skjor's promotions." He coughed lightly then rasped, "I will not make it to the end of the year. I will spend the time I have left finding a cure for our lycanthropy." He looked at Vilkas. "I had hoped to seek your help and advice, but now I have to wonder if I should." Vilkas lowered his eyes, his lips pursed, but he looked chastened. "Stay, after the others leave, and we will talk."

"Aye, Har— Kodlak," Vilkas murmured.

Farkas helped his brother return Kodlak to his bed, the old man shaking with exhaustion. Vilkas and Skjor stayed behind, closing the door, and Farkas found Aela already gone. He went to his room and grabbed his sword, cloak and a bag of coins, determined to get out of Jorrvaskr while the getting was good. When he went upstairs he saw Tilma in the kitchen area preparing for the evening's feast, the familiar cozy scene of his foster mother puttering around the kitchen warming his heart. He went to her and kissed her cheek. "Where is everybody?" he asked.

"The young ones are out back," she stated. "Going down to the market, dear?"

"Aye," he said with a nod. "It's Edric's birthday on the 4th. I want to find him a present."

"Isn't that nice. Pick up a few things for me while you're down there, would you?" She dug into the little pouch on her belt. "We're nearly out of salt. And I'm running low on elves ear. That always makes the roast taste extra nice. Oh, and juniper berries. Kodlak likes it stuffed in grouse. Maybe it will tempt him to eat something."

"Aye," Farkas agreed. "Salt, elves ear, juniper berries. Got it." He couldn't read but he never forgot anything important. Tilma handed him twenty septims and sent him on his way.

He headed down to Belethor's shop first. He liked the sleazy little Breton about as much as anyone else did, but the man always had good stock, and sometimes unusual things. His assistant Sigurd was behind the counter when Farkas went in, and when Farkas greeted him Belethor came running out, wiping the corners of his mouth. "Companion!" he said in greeting. He shooed Sigurd away and the young Nord sighed and went back to sweeping, muttering under his breath about being under-appreciated. The Breton leaned on the counter and asked, "So good sir, what can I do for you this fine day?"

Farkas didn't consider it particularly fine, considering it was raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock, but he refrained from saying so. "I need a birthday present. For my, uh…friend."

"Ah hah," Belethor said with interest. "Is this a friend-friend, or a _good_ friend?"

Farkas glared at him for a moment then muttered, "Good friend." Gods, he should've known that he wasn't going to get this done easily. Belethor was nosier than an old woman.

"Well well, which lucky lady finally managed to catch your eye?"

"It isn't a lady."

Belethor blinked in surprise then glanced at Sigurd, who was so busy muttering to himself and sweeping that he didn't seem to have heard. The Breton raised an eyebrow and beckoned Farkas closer. The Companion wrinkled his nose and leaned his elbows on the counter. Belethor murmured, "So is he a man's man, or...?"

"Kinda in-between. Depends." And Farkas loved that about him. Edric was definitely masculine, and no one could doubt how tough and strong he was, but he was so pretty and small and moved so gracefully and had such long hair that sometimes he seemed a little bit like a girl, and every so often he had a coy or flirty way about him that was kind of feminine. It just made him all the more beautiful. Edric was what he was and didn't have to be any one thing.

"Well, let's see what we have here then," Belethor said thoughtfully. He bent down behind his counter, humming to himself. "Tell me a little bit about him."

"Do I have to?" Farkas whined.

"I need some ideas here."

Farkas grumbled. "Okay, well…he's really handsome. Has really, really long hair—" Belethor popped up like a rabbit. Farkas stared at him for a moment and the Breton stared back. "Uh…he's small, like you, well, not quite as small, but he's a Nord. A warrior."

"Do tell," Belethor murmured with interest. "Is it that new fella in town? The new Companion?"

"M-maybe." Farkas could feel his cheeks were just about on fire.

"My my." Farkas' eyes narrowed, and Belethor put his hands up. "No offense. I don't go that way, frankly, but even I can see what he's got going on." He snapped his fingers as his eyes lit up, then he went back down behind the counter and began rummaging around. "I've got just the thing. Been sitting here collecting dust like my maiden aunt's womanhood since Ysolda got it from the cats three, four years back. Seems they've got a thing for mammoth ivory, crazy about the stuff. I bought this set from Ysolda as an investment; Jarl Balgruuf's daughter was coming up on her debut and he told me to keep an eye out for something unusual for her. Of course we all know how that worked out." Belethor stood with a narrow wood box in his hands. It looked to be dark walnut and had a brass catch on it and was thickly coated with dust just as he'd said.

He blew it off then slid it across the counter to Farkas, who looked at Belethor suspiciously when the Breton raised an eyebrow. He hoped to Dibella it wasn't anything inappropriate, though he supposed if it was a gift for a young girl it wouldn't be. Farkas undid the latch then lifted the lid. "Wow," he breathed.

"What did I tell you, eh?" Belethor said in satisfaction.

"Yeah." Inside the box on a bed of blue velvet was an ivory comb, the handle and the curve of the top intricately engraved with flowers and birds on both sides. It was the most breathtaking thing Farkas had ever seen. The cat folk had nimble fingers, but Farkas couldn't guess how even they had carved something so detailed. Farkas had never seen anything like it. It was _perfect_. Absolutely perfect. The flowers, the birds...it was like Kynareth herself had inspired the Khajiit to make it just for Edric. It was like the comb had been waiting here for him all this time.

"And then, the _real_ treasure…" Belethor lifted the layer of velvet under the comb, and set into a velvet-lined hollow in the bottom was a round circle of ivory carved with matching decorations. Belethor reached in and took out the circle, which had a flat side and a convex one and was about four inches in diameter. He used this thumbnail to undo the gold catch then slowly opened it, watching Farkas' face for a reaction.

Farkas couldn't speak. Inside the compact was a glass mirror that was so utterly flawless, the reflection so perfect, that it was almost a little scary, as if it was magic at work. Farkas had heard of such mirrors, crafted in Hammerfell of special white sands, so rare these days that they were only owned by nobles or wealthy merchants, but they were usually bigger than this. He grimaced in dread then whispered, "How much?"

"I was going to charge Balgruuf twelve hundred—" Farkas deflated. "However, I'd be willing to part with it for seven fifty."

"Five hundred."

Belethor rolled his eyes then put the ivory compact back in the velvet-lined case. "Look," the Breton said in a kindly tone, "I consider you a friend—"

"No you don't, and I don't consider you one either. Cut the crap."

"Six hundred," Belethor stated flatly. "That's half price. And I'm only going that low because it's a specialty item that I'm never going to sell unless I take it up to Solitude, and I'd have to hire you goons to guard me on the way there." He smirked at the bigger man. "And I'm a sucker for a love story."

"Six hundred," Farkas sighed in agreement. By Zenithar that was fucking _expensive_. He'd never paid that much for anything. He had to have it though. Edric would love it, he just knew it. "I've got two hundred with me. I'll be back in half an hour with the rest."

"You've got yourself a deal. I'll get it dusted off and the case polished up."

"I want it wrapped in something nice too at that price."

"I think I've got some silk remnants around here somewhere, if you're not picky about the color."

"Deal." Farkas set down the entire bag of coin that he'd brought with him then walked out of the shop. There was no way in hell he was going to tell Vilkas what he had just done. His brother would throw a fit and Farkas would never hear the end of it. It was actually rather surprising that Vilkas had never expected him to hand over his earnings for the 'smarter' twin to manage. It wasn't that Farkas couldn't afford the comb and mirror. He never spent his money on much and had a decent amount saved up. It was the idea of spending this much money on one single thing. It was worth it though. Edric was worth it.

He went to Arcadia's shop for the salt and spices Tilma was looking for, making small talk while she put everything together, then he was on his way again. Tilma wasn't in the kitchen, where the smell of baking bread made his stomach growl. He set her sack and the leftover coin on the flour-dusted work table there and hurried downstairs, somehow managing to not run into anyone. Vilkas' door was closed and he was punching the training dummy in his room, something he was doing with an increasing frequency that worried Farkas. He opened the chest in his room, which was now stripped of anything related to drinking other than the bar, and counted out four hundred septims into four bags of a hundred each. He dumped out his pack and put it inside and was able to get out of Jorrvaskr without speaking to a soul.

When he reached Belethor's the merchant had the walnut case dusted and polished with sweet-smelling oil and wrapped in a square of rough yellow silk and tied with a dark blue ribbon. "Nice," Farkas said with a nod as he handed over the money.

"And nice doing business with you, Companion," Belethor said as he gleefully picked up the gold then shook Farkas' hand. "Make sure to come back around and let me know how he liked it."

"Yeah, sure." Like hell he would. He stowed the present in his pack and left without another word. While he didn't think the Breton would talk, he wasn't about to give him any fodder for rumors. People would find out soon enough on their own. If the trip went as planned then there would definitely be no hiding the relationship after that.

_Relationship,_ Farkas thought happily as he passed the dead Gildergreen. He was going to have a real relationship. A real…lover, boyfriend, whatever people called it. Edric would be his, and he would be Edric's, and he'd be more than happy to let anyone know it. He'd be proud. Anyone would be to have a man like that at their side. Edric was a prize, something to be treasured and taken care of, and Farkas was going to do it, and anyone who gave him a hard time about it was going to get his fist.

**Farkas – 3rd of Frostfall, 4E205**

"This is exciting," Edric said with a grin as they left the Temple of Kynareth.

"Yeah," Farkas agreed. Exciting was exactly the word he would use for it. He had the gift stowed safely and securely in the middle of his pack, along with the usual supplies for any trip, and a little something extra he took with him when he did a job on his own and thought he might get lucky. He wasn't expecting to get _that_ lucky with Edric so soon, but you never knew. Edric had seemed in a good mood since his induction ceremony and feast, which Vilkas of course had skipped, though Kodlak had managed to sit upstairs for a few minutes after being carried up by Farkas, long enough to give a short speech and hand his position over to Skjor. Farkas could tell Aela was upset seeing the old man like that, frail and childlike, wrapped in blankets, barely more than skin and bones. Skjor had been upset too, though only someone who had known him for years would be able to tell. Skjor and Kodlak had been shield-brothers for decades, had fought battles together that were still the stuff of bards' tales. It had to hurt Skjor especially to see someone who had once been so powerful reduced to a shadow of himself.

While it was sad, Farkas thought Skjor would make a good Harbinger. He was strong and honorable and viewed the Circle as family even more than Kodlak had. Probably because he wasn't about to let the pack fall apart, and pack was family. Farkas loved Kodlak dearly, but it was hard to want to follow his path when he was dying and Vilkas was going crazy.

As they went down the stairs from the Wind District, Farkas felt his heart go into his throat when he saw Vilkas pacing in circles around the town well. The citizens and even the guards were giving him a wide berth. He was wearing regular clothing, his armor still with Eorlund for repairs. When he saw Farkas and Edric together his lip curled upwards in a sneer that alternately enraged and terrified Farkas. _Not here!_ he thought in a panic. He saw Vilkas' thumb rubbing along the band of the wolf ring. Then Edric quickened his pace to walk ahead of Farkas towards the well and he felt like he was watching a disaster unfold.

"Well, if it isn't the two little lovebirds," Vilkas said in disgust. Edric walked up to him and Farkas hurried to keep close, his heart pounding. "Get the fuck away from me," Vilkas hissed as Edric got in front of him, putting his hands on his hips as he looked up at the taller Companion.

"What did I tell you in Redoran's Retreat, brother?" Edric murmured.

"Don't threaten me. Don't you ever threaten me, you little shit!"

Farkas put his hand on Edric's shoulder and said to Vilkas in a pain-filled voice, "Why are you doing this, Vilkas? Just go home."

"Not without you. You get rid of _that,"_ he said, pointing at Edric, "and you follow me home, and we're going to take the next wagon to Falkreath and visit Narri."

"Come on," Farkas groaned. "Just give it a rest."

Edric asked Vilkas, "You really think you're in any kind of state to visit—" Farkas' grip tightened on his shoulder and he bit his lip and fell silent.

"We had an agreement!" Vilkas hissed at his twin.

"We made that agreement almost twenty years ago," Farkas said unhappily. "It isn't… I'm not…" He grimaced against the nauseating flutter in his stomach and whispered, "I don't really like girls, Vilkas. I never have."

"Funny how that was never an issue before he came along!"

"Because before…before was different, and it was always your idea, never mine. I did it because it was easy and it made you happy. I can't keep doing it. I can't marry a woman. Mara would know it wasn't honest—"

Vilkas shouted, "Fuck Mara!"

Everyone in the marketplace gasped, and Carlotta put her hands over Mila's ears, the young girl's mouth hanging open. Farkas stared at Vilkas in horror, feeling Edric standing stiff under his hand. No one had heard most of the previous conversation, but there was no missing that. This was pretty much the worst encounter Farkas had ever had. He could feel everyone's eyes on the three of them and his face starting to burn in response.

Vilkas pointed at Edric again, saying, "Do you know what he told me? He said if he thought I was a danger to the public that he would put me down like a rabid dog. He said he would _execute_ me. He threatened to murder your twin brother, Farkas. How does that sit with you?"

Farkas looked down at Edric, who was staring coldly at Vilkas, a look on his face unlike anything Farkas had seen on him before. "Did you?" Farkas asked in dismay.

"We were arguing," Edric quietly said, his eyes never leaving Vilkas. "What I threatened was _not_ murder. It was warning a semi-feral werewolf that if he turned in public I would be forced to deal with him." His green eyes narrowed as he said to Vilkas, "But maybe I wouldn't have to kill you. Maybe I should just tackle you right here and now and shove a silver wire under your skin and haul your ass back to Jorrvaskr for Aela and Skjor to deal with."

Vilkas shuddered as he went pale and his eyes widened, and Farkas whispered in horror, "Shit, Edric!" The level of coldness and danger emanating from his beloved was frightening and more than a little upsetting. Farkas hadn't really thought about how to keep Vilkas from turning if he was determined to without hurting him, but that would do it. It would burn, but it wouldn't really hurt him, and it would be enough to keep him in human form. But how the hell would they explain everything to the guards? Dealing with Vilkas in public could cause people to start asking ugly questions and expose the Circle and blow everything to Oblivion.

"I protected you," Edric said to Vilkas, as if Farkas hadn't even spoken. "I saved both your lives with no ulterior motive and this is the thanks I get from you. I've done nothing but try to get along, try to make the old man happy, and all you see is yourself. What _you_ want, what _you_ can't have. You're pathetic."

Vilkas hissed at him, "I hate you. I fucking hate you."

"I'm sure you do right now."

Vilkas turned his gaze on his brother. "This is not over. Go on ahead to wherever you two are going and fuck each other's brains out, but this is _not_ over."

"Yes it is," Edric stated, turning on his heel and striding away, his shoulders tense.

Farkas watched him go for a moment then looked at Vilkas again, seeing him rubbing the ring. Farkas said in a hurt voice, "If you turn in public…I can't save you."

"I don't need you to save me," Vilkas stated. "I need you to keep your word!"

"I can't. I won't marry Narri or any other girl. I can't believe you care that little for me, that you'd force me into something I don't want."

"You don't know what you want."

Vilkas walked away, going up the steps to the Wind District, and Farkas watched him go, anger warring with anguish. Kodlak's warning that someday Farkas might be able to hate his brother came back to him, and for the first time he realized it could very well be possible someday. Vilkas had embarrassed both Farkas and Edric in the heart of town, had embarrassed the Companions as well. Farkas wasn't really sure what Vilkas was capable of anymore. The way he kept rubbing that ring had Farkas nervous as hell. It was like Vilkas was itching to take it off. Suddenly Aela's idea to force Vilkas into changing didn't seem all that bad an idea. Farkas was going to have to talk to the other two when he got home and maybe even include Edric.

It was upsetting though to hear that Edric had threatened Vilkas like that. Maybe they had been arguing and tempers were high, but Edric had meant it. Edric always meant what he said. There was something cold and frightening inside the smaller man, something Farkas couldn't grasp. But maybe that was what was needed in this situation, someone who could be cold, who could be objective about Vilkas. Farkas couldn't be; Vilkas was his other half. Even Skjor and Aela had trouble thinking clearly about the matter, due to pack ties. And Aela's temper.

As his brother disappeared from view Farkas sighed heavily, trying not to look at the still-silent people around him who were no doubt still gaping. He went after Edric, finding him down the street, staring at Breezehome of all things. He didn't seem angry anymore, though he looked sad.

When Farkas joined him, Edric sighed heavily and muttered, "Maybe I could've handled that a little better."

"It's hard for anyone to handle Vilkas well," Farkas admitted.

"He's dangerous, Farkas. You saw him touching the ring, right?"

Farkas sighed miserably. "Yeah."

"If he turns in town he'll kill people." Farkas grimaced, and Edric looked up at him and said, "I told you where I got the ring. They were keeping Sinding in a wet, nasty cell. An old well. People would come in to stare at him, to spit at him and throw rotten food at him, taunt him, call him names… If Vilkas turns and I kill him, it will be a kindness." Farkas shook his head, unable to tolerate talking about this anymore. He loved his brother too much to even think about it. "Okay," Edric murmured. He motioned to Breezehome and said, "No one ever bought that house?"

"Nah. Balgruuf offered it to the Dragonborn but he didn't want it. Just took Lydia and left and hardly ever came back." He patted Edric on the shoulder and they headed towards the gates. "Vilkas was really upset when we heard Lydia died. Well, we all were, but he kind of had a thing for her. She didn't like him that way though."

"I'm sure she didn't."

As they reached the gates the guards nodded to Farkas, then one motioned to Edric and said, "Hey, you're that new member of the Companions, right?"

"Sure am," Edric said with a nod.

"So you, what, fetch their mead?" The other guard snickered at that. Edric stopped and stared at the guy.

"If they ask nice," Edric said in a tone of quiet menace. "I'll even fetch a bottle for you. Then I'll bend you over and shove it so far up your—"

"All right," Farkas cut in, grabbing Edric's shoulder again and steering him away from the guards, who seemed to find the whole thing hilarious.

"Fucking smartasses," he said in annoyance. "Everywhere I go in this goddamn country. I've never had this problem anywhere but Skyrim. It's like they don't take their jobs seriously."

"Sure they do. It's just their way of passing the time, that's all."

They passed through the gates and Edric grumbled in annoyance. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"It's just this thing with Vilkas has got me all worked up. I hope to hell Aela and Skjor keep an eye on him while we're gone."

"They will." Edric blew out a breath, trying to let it go, and Farkas had to as well. He didn't want to think about Vilkas while they were gone. He wanted this to be about just him and Edric and no one else. He wanted this first trip with his beloved to be happy. It would just figure if Vilkas found some way to ruin it without even being there. Well Farkas wasn't going to let it happen. No way. As much as it hurt, Vilkas was just going to have to cease to exist from this moment forward until they returned to Whiterun.

* * *

_**A/N: I can't put links into the notes, but if you search Google Images for 'Creative Museum Japanese ivory comb' one of the first results that comes up is close to what I envision Farkas' gift looking like, though with a handle.**_

_**Making flat, clear mirrors on our world is a fairly recent invention, but I figure if the Dwemer can invent steam engines anything is possible, and Hammerfell has a lot of sand, so I imagine the Redguards could easily be master glassworkers.**_


	16. Chapter 16

_**Love is in the air over the tundra of Eastmarch... **_

* * *

**Farkas – 4th of Frostfall, 4E205**

Farkas blinked blearily, still half-asleep, enjoying the sweet warmth against his back and the arm thrown over him. They were camped just across the bridge from Darkwater Crossing, having made good time considering the terrain, but the roads were kept up and the horses sturdy and sure-footed. They hadn't run into any trouble; Valtheim Towers had been empty of bandits, and Fort Amol was undergoing repairs by Stormcloak soliders.

He and Edric had been able to ride easily, talking, though Farkas found himself running into Edric's reluctance to address certain aspects of his past more and more often. It was frustrating, wondering what his love was hiding, and why. Edric swore he wasn't wanted by anyone but the Empire, and Farkas believed that, Skyrim flush with Nord former Legionnaires who were technically traitors to the Empire. But there was more to Edric than that. Farkas was well aware of his mental limitations, but something about Edric kept nagging at him. It wasn't anything bad, really, but he had the feeling that when he finally figured it all out that it was going to hit him like a mammoth had been dropped on his head.

"Ray…"

Farkas frowned at the soft whimper behind him. He felt Edric's hand clutch at his shirt.

"_...pek fah zey ko Sovngarde."_

Farkas gently dislodged Edric's arm and rolled over, waking the other man, and to his dismay Edric had been crying in his sleep. Edric squinted at him in confusion with wet eyes, as if expecting to see someone else. Well Farkas was confused too. He hadn't understood a word of what Edric had said. As if he'd been speaking a different language. And that talk about Sovngarde…no one wanted to hear their beloved talk in their sleep about the land of the dead. It was considered a bad omen. Farkas wondered if Edric had been dreaming about his dead man.

Edric's expression crumpled, and Farkas whispered "Hey, hey," and pulled him close, tucking Edric's head under his chin. He pillowed his head on his right arm and put his left around the smaller man, who shuddered and began to weep. Farkas clucked his tongue, his chest aching, trying to see this as a good thing. It was a shitty way for anyone to start their birthday, but at least Edric was letting out his grief. There had been a tension in him all along about it, as if he'd been sitting on it all this time, trying to keep it contained. Like he was afraid of what would happen if he let it out. This was sad, but Farkas was determined to see it as a positive, and flattering. Edric was crying like this because he trusted Farkas. He was sure that sleeping at someone's side all night for the first time in a year was part of it too.

Farkas kissed the top of Edric's head, smelling spice, and murmured, "My poor sweetheart." The endearment only seemed to make Edric cry harder, in huge wracking sobs that sounded like they were ripping themselves out of him. It made it impossible for Farkas to keep his own eyes dry. It was the saddest sound he had ever heard, other than the day he had heard the Dragonborn screaming on top of the mountain, after coming back from Sovngarde, where he had seen his dead husband. Farkas wondered if the Dragonborn had seen Edric's dead love there too. Wondered if Edric had known the Dragonborn, since they had both been Stormcloaks, both Legionnaires, had even both been to Solstheim. They sure seemed to have a lot…in…common…

Swallowing hard, Farkas felt realization start creeping into him. Sure, he was kind of dumb sometimes, but he wasn't an idiot. Those strange words just now sounded like the weird language the Dragonborn had spoken with that red dragon he'd captured. Ray…that could be short for Ralof, a nickname maybe. Edric's man had died in the Battle of Solitude just like the Dragonborn's husband. Edric was short for a Nord, like the Dragonborn. His speech followed the same patterns and his voice had the same pitch, though without the thu'um in it. Edric was uncommonly skilled for a common adventurer, and no one had ever heard of him before; he had seemed to appear out of nowhere after the Dragonborn had returned to High Hrothgar for good. Edric's tales made it sound like he had been all over Cyrodiil, Skyrim and Solstheim and yet he had no known reputation, which was just impossible. Edric's left shoulder hurt sometimes, and the Dragonborn's left side had been smashed up. Edric's right cheek was scarred, and Vilkas had said the right side of the Dragonborn's face had been destroyed; there was also a scar across the bridge of his nose, running towards his right eye, which the Dragonborn had lost to Alduin's tail. Edric had seen a healer this summer for bad wounds he had taken at the end of the war, but he had never said he took the injuries _in_ the war.

And then there was Kodlak, who had some kind of connection to Edric, as if he knew him from somewhere. Skjor acted kind of like that too. Both old men knew exactly who Edric was, as they had stated at the last meeting of the Circle in the Underforge. Both were determined to get Edric into the Circle, knowing Edric was someone important.

Farkas took a deep breath, his eyes wide, and that smell filled his nose again. Farkas had been with a lot of men, and quite a few women, and even a couple elves he was embarrassed to admit, and no race he had ever been with had smelled like that. It wasn't a _people_ smell. Farkas had smelled dragon before, had been up close to a living dragon, and he had looked closely at the dragon scale that Vilkas had brought home. He was slow, he admitted that, but even he should have known that smell the second it hit his nose again.

Edric was Dragonborn. _The_ Dragonborn.

He bit his lip, feeling a swell of anxiety and grief and confusion that he had to fight against to keep from giving himself away, his heart pounding. Well, he supposed it all made sense, but why would Edric hide who he was? Farkas had always known his beloved was special, important, but the Dragonborn was the most important person in Skyrim, maybe in the world. Why had he come to Jorrvaskr of all places, when he had spent so long avoiding it? _Edric came to this hall seeking sanctuary. A home. Family,_ Kodlak's statement to Vilkas echoed, and it all started to make a kind of sense. Maybe Edric wanted someplace to go where no one would bother him, where he could just be himself and not the Dragonborn. Maybe Kodlak and Skjor had invited him. The Dragonborn had known Kodlak had the rot and it was incurable; Edric had planned to go to war in the spring and let himself get killed, after Kodlak was gone, as if he was just spending the fall and winter with the Companions as a favor to the old man. Edric hadn't planned on Farkas falling in love with him, or actually feeling anything in return. But Farkas _had_ fallen in love, and Edric _was_ willing to try again. After everything he had been through.

Farkas wished Edric had told him who he really was, but maybe Edric was too scared to. Maybe he was afraid of how Farkas would react. Farkas had to admit that he would have been a hell of a lot warier of approaching the younger man if he'd known who he was up front. It would have been an intimidating prospect for anyone. Farkas then felt a pang of sympathetic sorrow, thinking of Edric's hurt that his man hadn't loved him the way he wanted, because the guy was straight. Farkas wondered if Ralof had given in to the relationship at first because of the honor of being the Dragonborn's lover, and not because of Edric himself. Maybe Edric hadn't told Farkas because he wanted Farkas to love him just because of him, not because he was Dragonborn. Farkas couldn't blame the other man for feeling wary.

A lump in his throat, Farkas sighed as Edric's sobs began to taper off. He reached up to his pack and rummaged in an outer pocket to find a handkerchief, feeling the front of his tunic soaked with tears. And snot. He gently pushed Edric back and began to wipe his face. Edric gazed up at him with red, swollen eyes, the redness making them all the more vivid a green. The thought of that perfect face being ruined was unbearable. Well then, he'd let Edric keep hiding what he was, even from Farkas, for as long as he wanted, if that made him feel safe. Farkas would try not to let on that he knew, and he sure as hell wouldn't let Vilkas know. Though maybe it would make Vilkas back off. Vilkas had felt bad for the Dragonborn.

No, he couldn't tell Vilkas. It wasn't his place to do so. If Edric couldn't yet bring himself to tell Farkas then Farkas had no right to go blabbing it to anyone else.

Edric took the handkerchief and blew into it while Farkas stroked his hair back, some of it coming loose from the braid overnight. "I'm hideous," Edric pouted.

"No you're not," Farkas assured him. "You're beautiful." He ran the white and caramel strands through his fingers. "My…my beautiful little sweetroll." He expected Edric to scoff at the name, one he himself had to admit was completely ridiculous and had been meant to make Edric laugh, but instead he looked up at Farkas with big eyes, an expression of disbelief on his face.

"Really?"

"Your hair. The white and light brown, and you smell sweet. That first morning, after you saved me, all I could think was that you were like a sweetroll."

"Oh…"

"I hope that's okay. Calling you…you know, cute names." Edric nodded, his eyes never leaving Farkas'. Farkas leaned on his elbow, his head on his palm. He traced Edric's eyebrow then let his finger run down his cheekbone to his jaw, with its masculine shape and feminine texture. He could feel Edric's leg against his, though in their separate bedrolls. Edric sniffed then let out a shuddering sigh, then he grabbed Farkas' hand and rolled over, putting his back to Farkas then pulling his arm over him. Farkas snuggled up close, feeling deep satisfaction over how perfectly Edric fit there. He kissed Edric's temple then laid down to pillow his head on his arm again, his nose in Edric's hair.

"I feel safe with you, Farkas," Edric whispered.

"Good. You should. 'Cause you are."

"I'm sorry I did that. Cried like a baby."

Farkas growled, "No. No apologies. Anyone should cry like that over losing someone they love."

Edric licked his lips and whispered, "He…he was…we were married, but he was never really my husband." Farkas sighed and kissed the back of his head. "I should've told you. That I was married before."

"It's your business what you tell people or not." It made him happy though, getting that little bit out of Edric. Maybe he would start to open up after this.

"It's just…why did he agree to marry me if he didn't feel the way I did?" Edric asked in anguish.

"Maybe he wanted to love you better but couldn't."

"But it wasn't fair, to either of us. I saw him looking at women all the time, like he missed being with them. I know he was faithful, but all I could imagine was that he resented me, for making things the way they were."

"I don't believe that," Farkas stated. "He agreed to it. He knew what he was getting into. He clearly felt something for you if he was able to, uh, be with you."

"But not the way I wanted. There were some things he just wouldn't do. He couldn't bring himself to… to do certain things. To me. For me. I always felt…cheated. Unsatisfied."

Farkas said with sympathy, "Because he was straight. I don't blame him for not being able to do some stuff. I think he just did the best he could and loved you as much as he could. But I promise I'll do and be whatever he couldn't."

"Ah Farkas," Edric whispered.

Farkas felt slender fingers twine with his bigger ones. Farkas gave him a gentle squeeze. "Maybe it isn't very happy right now, but happy birthday."

"I guess that is today, huh. Thirty."

"I'm going to be forty-two on the 20th of Evening Star. Thirty's nothing."

"Yeah, but I have a hell of a lot more gray hair than you do."

"I like it though. It's pretty." He let go of Edric and sat up. "That reminds me."

He dug through his pack, and Edric said with worry, "Tell me you didn't get me something." Farkas shrugged. "Farkas, no," Edric sighed, sitting up as well.

"Don't worry, this was a once in a lifetime thing, believe me," Farkas said. "I saw it and I couldn't let anyone else have it. And the ten year birthdays are special. Maybe in ten years I'll get you something this nice again."

Edric laughed faintly. "Already thinking that far ahead?" Farkas made a sound of assent. He pulled out a rectangular box wrapped in yellow silk and tied with a thin dark blue ribbon and handed it to Edric, who stared at it as if he was afraid of it. He swallowed and untied the ribbon then stared at the walnut box for a moment before glancing up at Farkas, who smiled encouragingly at him. Edric lowered his eyes then opened the box. "Oh my," he breathed. "Oh _Farkas."_

"I wanted to get you something as beautiful as you. When I saw this I knew I had to have it. To get it for you."

"I'm scared to even touch it."

"It's mammoth ivory. It's pretty tough. And look at this." Farkas picked up the comb with the velvet, not entirely sure of the cleanliness of his hands.

"No," Edric whispered with wide eyes. He licked his lips then carefully picked up the compact. He stared at it in the palm of his hand for a long time, then he popped it open with his fingernail. "Oh…wow… Oh Farkas…"

Farkas smiled at his breathless reaction, and when Edric put his hand over his mouth the gesture was so cute he could hardly stand it. Edric stared into the mirror for a long moment, then his hand drifted to his cheek, his fingertips tracing the scars. "I never notice them," Farkas assured him. "Honest." He really didn't, but it wasn't as if he didn't understand how they probably made Edric feel. They were pretty serious scars. But then Farkas couldn't even start to picture in his own head how bad Edric had looked before, so even as serious as the scars were now they probably seemed like nothing.

"I…just hadn't looked that close. I've never seen a mirror this clear before. It's _amazing."_

Farkas watched him pull the mirror close, looking at his left eye then his mouth, then Edric smiled broadly at Farkas, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, his eyes shining even if they were still red. Farkas smiled back, feeling warm all over at the reaction to the gift. It was perfect, just as he had known it would be.

Edric looked at himself again, and his fingers prodded the marks as his smile faded. "You've never asked what happened to me."

"I figured you'd tell me when you wanted to."

Edric stared at himself, a haunted look crossing his face. "It was a dragon." Farkas held his breath. "It ah…destroyed me, basically. You look at me and think I'm handsome, but…I didn't look like this before summer. I…I was a monster. Half my face was gone. My right eye, gone. I could barely walk. My left side, it was crushed. My bones still ache sometimes on that side. I killed the dragon, but…I was a mess. Some priests healed me, but I was still a mess. They wouldn't let me see my face. It wasn't until I got out on my own and was able to look into a lake that I saw just how bad it was, and I just about lost my mind. I thought I was going to go crazy, I looked so bad."

Edric closed the compact and gently put it away as he continued, "I lived like that for nine months altogether. Well, I wouldn't call it living. But that was when I came to the worship of Kynareth, so…I suppose it wasn't time wasted. Anyway, I heard about this healer back in Second Seed but I was too scared to go look for her. I was afraid of making it worse, bad as it was. My poor mother…I didn't dare go see her looking like that. When I finally worked up the courage, the healer was horrified by what she saw, and rightly so. She started with just my eye, since that couldn't get any worse, and within an hour I could see again. She spent days working on me, and it was excruciating, but every time she did I looked a little better, moved a little easier. I ended up paying her close to thirty thousand septims by time it stopped working, but it was worth every coin." He touched the bridge of his nose then his right cheek briefly. "I can live with this, believe me."

Farkas nodded, the story leaving him wide-eyed in amazement. "But…this is what you looked like before," he finally said, not quite a question. He would still love Edric either way. He remembered Vilkas' gut-wrenching description of his encounter with the Dragonborn in Windhelm, the man's cry of _I was beautiful!_ and Ulfric's grief-stricken agreement.

"Oh. Oh, yeah, definitely." Edric laughed. "Don't worry, I didn't change what I really look like, though I've heard of people on the wrong side of the law who've done that to disappear." He took the comb and velvet from Farkas, laying the velvet down to look at the comb. He ran his fingertips over the engravings. "This is exquisite, Farkas. I can't imagine how you found something like this."

"The Khajiit carved the set. Ysolda bought it from them then sold it to Belethor. It's been gathering dust for years in his shop, but…I think it was meant for you. Waiting for you." Just like Farkas.

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Edric sighed. "Thank you."

"That's why I got it, 'cause you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Edric set the comb down and closed the case to stare at the lid for a long moment. "You really do love me," he said in a bemused tone. "For real."

"I do," Farkas stated quietly. Edric cradled the box in his lap then took a deep breath and looked up at Farkas. He lifted a hand and brushed his fingers along Edric's cheek, as soft as the velvet in the box. Edric's jaw was male though, and his chin square with a hint of a cleft in it. "That's why you can't grow a beard? The healer?"

Edric nodded, murmuring, "I've never kept a beard. I can't stand it. When she offered to give me back my facial hair I told her not to bother." He snorted a laugh and set the box next to his pack. "I keep imagining myself as an old man with a grandmother's face."

"At least you're imagining yourself old."

"Because of you, wolf. Only because of you." He lowered his eyes to Farkas' hands and picked one up, holding it in his, then he hesitantly lifted it and placed a lingering kiss on the back.

Farkas smiled at him, though he couldn't help noticing that Edric's hands were trembling slightly. Well, they had time to work on that too, and it might take help from a healer or alchemist to get him through it. Farkas didn't want him to get sick from quitting drink, and unfortunately he might have to quit all the way to overcome his need for it. That wouldn't exactly be easy in a place like Jorrvaskr.

It didn't take long to pack up, and Farkas couldn't help noticing Edric's shy glances every so often, the little smiles that kept crossing his sweet face. It was obvious that some kind of weight had been lifted off Edric's soul. Farkas would have been content to wait until after the 13th for some kind of something from Edric, but it was better this way. Safer. Farkas would have been terrified of that date otherwise, fearing Edric would go off on his own and do something rash in his grief. This way Edric already had something in place to fall back on, something to keep him strong. He kept his eyes averted as his beloved took a discreet and very deep drink, not wanting to embarrass him, then they were on their way.

They crossed the bridge and went into the mining settlement of Darkwater Crossing, where Edric paid a young girl well to care for their horses for several days; there was no fresh water or grass for the animals in the volcanic area, a place Farkas had always found bleak and unsettling, though he supposed he should give it a chance. The girl was happy with the arrangement, as was her mother, and it was one less worry.

They passed a deep pool that was already claimed by a small group of hunters, and Farkas' eyebrows rose as one of the women stood from the water stark naked. Edric waved and the lovely young Redguard woman grinned and waved back then beckoned in a questioning motion, and he shook his head and blew her a kiss in thanks, taking Farkas' hand in his own. She winked at him then continued on her way.

"What's that all about?" Farkas asked in confusion.

"Let's just say that the folks that come here tend to be very friendly and open-minded."

"Ohh," Farkas murmured in understanding. So the girl had been inviting them to join her and her friends. That was nice. He had to admit that it looked cozy in the pool, many of the people up to their necks in the steaming water, while others lay in the shallower water relaxing. He then realized Edric was holding his hand and understood the timing of it. Edric had been letting the woman know that they were on their own business and preferred to be alone. It was a sweet gesture.

It took nearly an hour of walking to reach their destination, at the end of which Farkas was sweating profusely beneath his wolf armor, the air in the entire area warm and moist. He wrinkled his nose at the stinky smell, though Edric didn't seem to notice it, and Farkas supposed he would get used to it. Edric pointed out the sacred grove of pines and the Sanctuary beyond it but led Farkas past all that to a set of shallower pools that were off on their own, unoccupied. Edric set his pack and bedroll on a flat area between two pools, and when Farkas glanced behind them the tents of the hunters' camp were barely visible.

He smiled at Edric, who was waiting for a reaction. "This is nice," Farkas said in appreciation. "I can't believe I never thought about coming here. We usually go around."

"Most people don't really appreciate the area until they've spent some time here." He began stripping off his armor, and Farkas stared at him for a moment then began taking off his own.

When Edric got down to the clothes under his armor he stopped and moved to set up the tent. Farkas hurried to help him, and when Edric spread out the bedrolls one on top of the other to accommodate them both Farkas had to resist the urge to tackle the other man right then and there. He stacked his armor neatly inside, as did Farkas. When the Companion sat down to pull off his boots he saw Edric pull his leather and fur vest over his head then toss it aside, and the sight of bare pale skin made him freeze.

Edric smiled shyly and knelt down facing him, and Farkas swallowed hard as he took in a body that was every bit as fine as the face that was attached to it, slender but leanly muscled, dusted with brown and white hair across his chest that ran down his stomach in an enticing line that disappeared under the leather. There were a few yellowish, faded bruises here and there from his fight with Skjor, and the nearly healed cut from Dustman's Cairn, and older scars here and there that any warrior would have, though not terribly many, probably because of magical healing. Farkas opened his mouth to tell Edric how gorgeous he was and not a sound came out. Farkas had been with plenty of men just as handsome as Edric, though not as pretty, but there was a certain something about his mate that reached Farkas in a way no one else ever had.

"You look hot," Edric murmured.

"Uh, thanks."

Edric laughed, "No, really, you look like you're sweltering. Roasting."

"Right," Farkas muttered, feeling dumb. He unbuttoned his doublet then threw it aside, and Edric eyed him hungrily.

"Okay, now you look hot."

Farkas laughed, feeling self-conscious as Edric's eyes traveled over him, then he reached out a hand and tentatively ran his fingers through Farkas' thick black chest hair. His eyes moved back up to Farkas', suddenly looking sad and apprehensive.

"It's been…a long time," Edric whispered painfully. "I haven't even…I just…haven't."

"Ah love, it's okay," Farkas murmured in sympathy. "I'll do whatever you want, I swear." Edric nodded, gazing at him with a thoughtful expression, then his eyes lowered and his hand slid down to tug on the waist of Farkas' pants. His face warming, Farkas did as directed, helping Edric undress him the rest of the way, then he sat back on his hands, feeling weirdly exposed and vulnerable to be sitting there naked in the opening of the tent in broad daylight, standing at half mast, though it didn't stay that way long when Edric's hand moved up his thigh. Then Edric's hand clenched as it stopped and he closed his eyes, a look of grief on his face. Farkas took his fist and kissed it, saying, "Don't do this to yourself. Why are you doing this?"

"I…I have to get past it. How else am I going to?"

"I will. I'll do it for you." Edric's eyes opened, looking confused, and the whole thing made Farkas' heart bleed for him. He had to wonder just how long it had been since Edric had truly been made love to, as opposed to whatever it was he had settled for from Ralof. "I'll do whatever you want me to," Farkas repeated.

"I want you to do what _you_ want," Edric replied in a hurt voice. "I want you to be _real,_ to be you. I want to know how things would be. I didn't think straight with…with him, and I ended up making myself miserable." Farkas sighed sadly, and Edric made a sound of angry frustration and turned away and sat down, pulling up his knees. "I'm sorry," he whispered tersely. "I'm fucked up, just like I warned you."

Farkas moved close behind him, tentatively touching Edric's bare shoulder, which was tense and bunched up. His brown and white braid hung down his back and Farkas ran it through the fingers of his other hand. "No you're not," he stated firmly. "You're just hurt and sad. You spent this last year grieving and the three years before that making do."

"It was my own fault!"

"It was his fault too. It was both your faults, but it's over, and I hope to hell that you don't think his death had anything to do with anything but bad luck. He'd still be dead either way, but as it was he had someone who loved him for three years."

"God, Farkas," Edric choked in disbelief.

"Skjor was my forebear, and Vilkas'. He told us when we took the blood about how he became a sellsword after the war hoping something would kill him, 'cause he felt so guilty that he survived when most of his friends didn't. He started living hard, drinking and whoring and fighting, because he was so depressed. He couldn't find the reason why he lived when the others died. He said he started getting better when he figured out there wasn't any reason but random shit luck." Edric said nothing in response, trembling slightly as he stared out at the hot pool in front of their tent. Farkas put both hands on Edric's shoulders, crossing his legs as he sat to get comfortable, then began gently rubbing. Edric was tense, but that was okay. "I'm sorry if all that sounds hard, but I don't think you're any more screwed up than anyone else would be. You went through the war and gods know what else those three years, then you lost your husband and then you got burnt up by a dragon. I'd be insane." Edric drew in a deep breath then blew it out, some of the tension leaving him. Farkas kissed his shoulder, smelling that mix of masculine sweat and cinnamon that was purely Edric. "Kodlak told me your heart was broken. I don't think broken hearts heal on their own. So I'm gonna fix it."

Edric laughed faintly and asked, "How are you going to do that?"

Farkas said against his shoulder, "I'm going to start by giving you the best goddamn blowjob you've ever had." He heard Edric's breath catch as goose bumps rose on his skin.

"You don't mess around, do you," Edric whispered in amazement.

Farkas grunted and shook his head as his mouth traveled up to Edric's neck, his beard lightly scratching his skin. His arm slid around Edric's slender waist, feeling lean muscle under the fair skin, and when his thumb brushed a nipple he heard a soft, promising sigh, though the smaller man was still tense. Farkas had to wonder through his own growing desire just how pent up and frustrated Edric must have been all those years, sleeping with a man who couldn't return Edric's love fully. He couldn't even really imagine just what they _had_ done together if Ralof couldn't bring himself to do all those things Farkas took for granted.

The tension under Farkas' mouth and hand became another kind entirely as he continued to kiss and pet his beloved, who was pressed back against him and breathing heavily before he ever even went south of the border. He hoped Edric was always this sensitive and responsive and it wasn't just the result of too many years of being denied. His reactions to just this were so gratifying that Farkas' beastblood was growling at him to take the other man, to flip him over onto his stomach and claim him. Luckily he had his beast under control, though that control nearly slipped when he brushed his hand over Edric's groin and was rewarded with a low moan.

"Fuck me Farkas, please…"

"Nuh uh." He couldn't help thinking that had been Edric's compromise way too often, being the 'girl' in the relationship. Besides, he'd made a promise.

He moved around in front of Edric, who gazed at him with eyes that were dilated with lust then grabbed fistfuls of Farkas' hair and pulled him in for a fervent kiss. Farkas growled happily, determined to remember this very moment and the first feel of that perfect, soft little mouth. He put one hand behind Edric's head and lowered him back onto the bedroll then began kissing down his body, hands still in his hair. He unfastened the leather then slowly pulled it down with Edric's underclothes, and what sprang out was so adorable that he couldn't help smiling and kissing along it tenderly. It was in proportion to the rest of his body, anything a man of another race would be proud of, but compared to most Nords it was…adorable. He growled as he rubbed his nose along it, the wolf purring happily inside him at the musky-spicy scent that was so pure and strong there.

He pulled the pants off and tossed them aside as Edric let go of his hair. Farkas leaned down and gently pushed his legs apart and nuzzled the soft skin there, then underneath, hearing a soft whimper as he saw Edric's hands grab the bedroll on either side. He leaned back up and ran his tongue along Edric's length as he rubbed his fingertips beneath him, and when he looked up at Edric's face his eyes were squeezed shut, his lips parted. Beautiful. Farkas began to massage underneath, watching, and when he gently pressed inward on a certain spot Edric's breath hitched as his toes curled and his hands tightly bunched into fists.

Farkas' mouth took him in and he heard a whining moan and tasted salt and bitterness and cinnamon, then the hands were in his hair again. He took his time, not about to rush a moment of it. He was going to make it perfectly clear to his mate that this was something he enjoyed, something Edric could look forward to getting used to. A slight buck of the hips made him growl deeply, and the vibrations pushed Edric over the edge as he thrust into Farkas' mouth and whimpered, his hands so tight in Farkas' hair it was painful, but a good kind of pain, the kind that made his beastblood rear up in aggression.

He swallowed the odd-tasting seed and began crawling up Edric's body, his own heavy and throbbing with need, the wolf demanding that he fully claim his little mate, and he ignored it as he stroked himself and leaned down to suckle a tiny brown nipple. He moved to the other and licked it then sucked on it as well, stroking himself harder, then he moved up and kissed Edric deeply. He felt hands stroking his flanks then one moved down to take over as Edric's legs twined with his. The hand found its rhythm as he thrust into it, and it didn't take long to reach his own release, panting into Edric's mouth as he spent himself.

Farkas nuzzled along Edric's cheek as his arms went around Farkas' neck, and he slid his own down and around Edric's shoulders so his hands could cup his head. "Love you," he growled fiercely, kissing fervently along Edric's cheeks, making sure he kissed the scars as well. He felt Edric nod and hold him more tightly. Farkas suddenly tasted saline, and he sighed and lifted his head to see tears running out the corners of Edric's eyes as he stared at the roof of the tent. "You okay?"

Edric sniffed and nodded as he took in a deep breath then slowly let it out. "Shit," he whispered as he wiped his eyes. "You weren't kidding."

"Good." At least Edric was crying for a good reason, one he couldn't help being smugly pleased about. He looked around for one of his socks and found it, using it to clean his seed off the other man's stomach. He lay down at Edric's side, propped up on an elbow, and lightly ran his hand over Edric's hipbone, then his thigh, sighing happily, feeling his wolf curled up sleepy and content inside him, satisfied to finally have his mate. Edric smiled at him, his green eyes bright and shining, looking truly content for the first time since Farkas had met him. He touched the Amulet of Kynareth on Edric's chest and said, "I'm surprised you don't wear an Amulet of Talos."

Edric's smile faded as he answered, "I used to. Until a year ago." He sighed and went on, "Kynareth brought me peace. The wind, the rain, the call of a hawk, the howl of a wolf, the way all of nature is tied together… Once I started paying attention it soothed some of the pain away. It was hard at first, letting go, learning to meditate properly, but once I did I had some measure of peace, at least while I was praying."

"Then it's good you came to Whiterun for a whole lot of reasons."

Edric nodded, running his fingers through Farkas' chest hair. "All the wilds are hers, but the temple in Whiterun is where I feel her best. I just hope I can get the Eldergleam to give up some sap. Danica hates the thought of another New Life Festival going by with a dead tree. Well, sleeping tree, she thinks. I'm not so sure it is asleep."

Farkas admitted, "I don't think it's sleeping either." He tried to stifle a yawn and wasn't successful. He lay down on his back and muttered, "Sleeping. That sounds good." Edric made a sound of assent but sat up on his elbow to look at Farkas, his braid mussed and cheeks still pink from lovemaking. Edric made a soft sound of happiness and lightly petted Farkas, glancing at him almost shyly. Farkas smiled at him and Edric laughed and leaned down to kiss him tenderly.

Edric hummed in contentment against Farkas' mouth then broke away to stroke the bigger man's cheek. Farkas saw the affection in his eyes and could only hope that it would blossom soon into real love. Edric laid his head on Farkas' broad chest and put his arm over him, and Farkas ran the braid through his hand a few times as he closed his eyes, warm and happy and satisfied, glad that Edric had pushed through his grief and wariness enough to suggest this trip. He wasn't going to take Edric back home to Jorrvaskr until he was sure that his love's heart was well on its way to being mended. This morning was a good start.

When Farkas awoke later the sun was directly overhead and he was alone, though Edric had thrown his clothes over him to keep him warm. He grunted and hauled himself upright, squinting though it was cloudy out, and the sight that greeted him took his breath away. Edric stood in the middle of the pool in front of their tent with his back to Farkas, still naked as the day he was born, his hair free of its braid and drifting gently in the breeze, rippling in waves of light brown and white, as pretty as any girl's. Edric definitely had a masculine body though, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, muscles moving across his back and along his legs. Farkas doubted he weighed more than one-sixty though, slender as he was.

Edric seemed to have his head bowed, his hands clutched in front of him, and Farkas sat and watched him for a moment, hearing a soft murmur, maybe a prayer. He cupped his ears to listen and heard what had to be the dragon tongue. It sent a reverent shiver through him, thinking that his intended mate was Dragonborn. Still, he wasn't one to overthink things; Dragonborn or not, Edric had freely chosen Farkas. He could have chosen anyone, with looks like that, beyond what he was, and still he had chosen Farkas. Farkas would treat him like the precious thing he was, and that was just Edric. He was well aware though of the honor he was being given. Maybe someday Edric would trust him enough to admit to it.

Edric's head lifted and he glanced behind him over his left shoulder, and when he realized he was being watched he smiled, his expression softening. He looked so lovely with his hair hanging loose behind him, with the breeze blowing it ever so slightly. _The breath of Kyne,_ Farkas thought with wonder. He crawled out of the tent, and when he stood Edric's eyes widened as he turned all the way and looked the Companion up and down. Farkas sighed in contentment; the front was just as gorgeous as the back. Those hipbones just begged to be nibbled at, and that sweet little package…

"You handsome beast," Edric said in appreciation.

He smiled warmly as Farkas came toward him, and Farkas nearly scooped him up and carried him to the tent right then and there. Farkas resisted the urge and instead ran his fingers through Edric's hair, just as fine and soft as he'd imagined. Farkas remembered the Dragonborn's head being shaved, that one brief time he had taken his helmet off. He couldn't help thinking there was some kind of overcompensation going on here, probably another thing Edric had had the healer do for him. It was pretty though, with those long streaks of pure white running through it. Impractical for a warrior, but pretty.

Edric hesitated, raising his hands halfway, then he lightly ran his hands over Farkas' chest and stomach, murmuring, "Like a work of art."

"Hardly," Farkas scoffed. He kept himself up pretty well, but at nearly forty-two it wasn't as easy as it used to be. He wiggled his toes in the warm water as Edric slowly walked around him, running his hands over him like he was assessing merchandise. It was flattering, just as his initial reaction had been. When Edric stopped behind him and squeezed both cheeks Farkas said in amusement, "You're gonna get in trouble if you do that."

"Oh no," Edric murmured in mock worry. "Can't have that." He slid his hands over Farkas' back then down his shoulders and arms, muttering, "My…god, Farkas. You're amazing."

"Nah." Edric made a sound of warm happiness and slid his arms around Farkas' waist, laying his head between Farkas' shoulder blades, and the gentle brush of a half-erect maleness between his upper thighs made a surge of need go through him. He ran his hands over Edric's arms, starting to rise himself, and when he felt Edric go up on his tiptoes to nuzzle the back of his neck as something else nuzzled his backside he growled. He heard a soft sound of dismay from Edric as he pulled away, and Farkas caught his hands. "No."

Edric held his groin away from Farkas and mumbled, "I'm sorry, I should've—"

Farkas pulled Edric back against him. "Uh uh. No sorries. Nothing's wrong. It was a good growl." Edric made a sound of sorrow and leaned his forehead against Farkas' back, holding him tightly again. "I'm not going to let you be the girl," Farkas vowed. "I hate that shit. No one has to be the girl or the guy. That whole thing drives me up the damn wall." He felt Edric eyebrows rise against his back, and he said more gently, "I got nothing to prove. If you want it you can have it. I'm fine with it. It feels good." It would probably feel really good considering Edric's size wasn't exactly threatening.

Edric was silent and Farkas stayed quiet, letting him think whatever he was thinking. After a couple minutes the younger man finally asked in a pained voice, "You'd really let me do that?"

"Yeah, I would. I will." He paused then added awkwardly, "Though we might have to get uh, kind of creative, considering the uh, height difference." He wasn't quite sure how they were going to get everything lined up properly. Every time he had ever done that it had been with other Nords, men closer to his height.

"You really don't consider me the girl."

"No."

"Then why did you get me the comb and mirror?"

"'Cause you're handsome and have long hair and I knew you'd like it."

"But…" Edric trailed off then made a sound of frustration.

"Were you always on the receiving end before he came along?" He heard Edric let out a huff of grief then he felt him shake his head. "I feel protective of you 'cause you're smaller than me, I can't help that. And because you're sad. And because you can't heal. But I know how strong you are, and I know you'd comfort me if I was sad and protect me if I was hurt. You did protect me, that night you saved my life." He felt Edric nod and hold him more tightly. Neither one of them was in the mood any longer, but that was okay. They had all the time in the world for that. It was just their first day together, and getting Edric straightened out was more important than fooling around. Farkas put his hands over Edric's arms and went on, "When I talk to people about you, I'm gonna to say you're my man, 'cause you are."

"I am," Edric whispered. "Ah Farkas, I am. And you're mine." The catch in Edric's voice was sweet, moving.

"I am," Farkas agreed. He took one of Edric's hands and pulled him along. "Let's go sit in the hot water for a while. Then we can eat." And then maybe do other things.

They walked hand in hand to the deepest part of the pool, only about a feet and a half deep, but plenty good for laying back and relaxing in. He watched as Edric twisted his hair to put it up then lay on his stomach in the water next to Farkas, who lay back with his hands behind his head. Farkas made a sound of pleasure, the water here closer to the source of the spring, hotter, and he closed his eyes and tried not to think about anything other than the bubbling sound nearby. He heard Edric start humming a song, and the lovely sound combined with the hot water and lingering sleepiness from the nap made Farkas feel so perfectly happy that it seemed nothing could ruin it.

"Vilkas doesn't know where we are, does he?"

Farkas sighed and opened his eyes. That could ruin it. "No. I didn't tell anyone where we were going, only that we'd be gone for a while." He paused then asked hesitantly, "Do we have to talk about my brother, love?"

"No. Sorry. I just…I worry."

"Me too. But we can do plenty of that when we get back."

"Okay."

It was silent for a while as Farkas lay there trying to clear his mind again, something that usually wasn't too hard for him to do, and the soft burbling of the water managed to finally soothe him into a lazy, relaxing mindlessness. After nearly ten minutes of blissful silence he realized it was _too_ silent. Edric wasn't humming, in fact he was so still that Farkas feared that when he opened his eyes his lover would be gone.

Farkas cracked an eye open and saw Edric staring at him, a look of barely-suppressed anxiety on his face, then it smoothed out and he smiled slightly at Farkas as if nothing were wrong. His mate was much too good at putting on that face, and it was worrisome. Edric shouldn't have to do that with him. "What's wrong?" Farkas asked, opening his eyes fully. Edric's calm expression faltered at the question. So many things lurked behind those deep green eyes, things Farkas couldn't even begin to guess at, things that might take years to get out of him. Farkas didn't mind, looking forward to learning all about his beloved, being the one to draw things out of him, the one to earn his trust. That might take a while, with all the things Edric was probably dealing with. Mara's sake, the poor thing had only had his whole face back for a few months now.

"I…I'm just…worried," Edric said haltingly.

Farkas frowned, waiting, and when nothing further was said he prompted, "Not about my brother again, I hope."

"No, well, not really…"

Edric sat up in the water, crossing his legs and taking his hair down to put it into a quick, messy braid, avoiding Farkas' eyes, though his own kept glancing at Farkas' body. Well, nice as it would be to get into the bedroll and fool around again, Farkas had the feeling that if he let that happen right now it wouldn't really be the best idea. It would be all too easy for Edric to use sex to try to distract Farkas from the issues, and indeed a moment later Edric's hand went out to trail along Farkas' stomach. Farkas caught Edric's hand and kept hold of it as he sat up to face the young man, pushing his wet hair back with the other.

Edric gazed up at him and murmured, "My god, you're handsome."

"Uh, well, thanks," Farkas began, then he sighed and said, "Look, Edric honey—" Edric made a warm humming sound at the endearment, his eyes shining, and when his free hand landed on Farkas' thigh then began to move inward Farkas lost his train of thought. "Uh…" He shook himself and grabbed Edric's other hand before it reached its target. Edric sat back, staring at Farkas with equal parts confusion and wariness. "I just want to know what you were thinking," Farkas said. "That's all. Why you're worried."

Edric frowned and looked down at their joined hands. "It's…a feeling, that's all." Farkas waited. Edric frowned again and whispered with a shake of his head, "You'll think I'm…odd."

"You're special, and that's not bad." Edric's frown deepened and Farkas tilted his chin up to force him to look Farkas in the eyes. He kept his hand there and leaned down close to him, saying intently, "Nothing you could ever tell me would make me think bad of you. I'd never think you're odd. Weird. Whatever it is you're worried about. Maybe sometimes something will surprise me, like the other night when you used magic, but it doesn't mean I think it's bad. I'm just not good with words and sometimes things don't come out right." It was so tempting to just tell Edric that he knew Edric was Dragonborn, but it was too soon and might make Edric doubt his intentions.

"You're plenty good with words."

"So?"

Edric sighed sadly and took Farkas' left hand in both of his. As he turned Farkas' hand over then back again, as if studying it, he murmured, "I ah, can tell things. About people. When I look in their eyes, I can…I can get a feel for who they are. I can tell if they're good or not. See their character. I can tell when people are lying to me, if they're looking me in the eye."

Feeling a shiver go over his skin, Farkas whispered, "Like Kodlak." That was damn spooky.

Edric snorted a tired laugh. "Yeah, like Kodlak. And like Kodlak, sometimes…I get hunches. Premonitions. They're usually vague, and sometimes I can't separate them out from my own feelings, my own fears and wants and worries. I don't dream, like he sometimes does, thank the Nine, but I do get…those feelings."

_Wow,_ Farkas thought with another wave of goose bumps, hoping Edric would think it was the breeze. "So, uh…what were you feeling when you were looking at me like that?" He was almost afraid to find out.

Edric sighed heavily, staring at Farkas' mouth, and he finally mumbled, "It felt…like something bad is going to happen. Like something's going to ruin this."

"No," Farkas said in a firm tone with a shake of his head. "I won't let it."

Edric looked up to meet his eyes, then he nodded and looked down at Farkas' hand again. "Maybe… maybe it's just my own anxiety." A pained expression crossed his face. "I waited so long for something like this. I don't want to lose you."

The sentiment warmed Farkas' heart, and he kissed Edric's forehead and murmured against it, "You won't, love. I promise." He leaned his forehead against the smaller man's. "I knew from the first time I saw your face that you were the one for me. I won't ever let anything or anyone come between us." Edric smiled slightly at him and nodded, then his hand came up to slide around the back of Farkas' neck and wind itself in his damp hair. The gentle touch of Edric's lips on his sent a surge of warmth through him, and he didn't resist this time when the other hand let go of his and slid up his thigh to lightly fondle him, making Farkas growl into his mouth.

Edric sat up on his knees then pushed Farkas back, and when the big warrior sat back on his hands and smiled at him Edric stated warmly, "I think I'm starting to like it when you growl."

"W-why's that?" His voice hitched when Edric climbed into his lap to straddle him. The feel of male heat against his own made him rumble again.

Edric leaned down and murmured against Farkas' cheek, "I like that I bring out the beast in you."

Edric ran his tongue along Farkas' neck, and when he felt Edric's teeth lightly nip him he shuddered with a surge of need. He had never slept with anyone other than Edric who knew what he was, other than Aela of course, and that wasn't the same at all. It wasn't even close. When he felt the tug of teeth on his earlobe he groaned quietly and moved beneath Edric, who whispered in his ear.

"Did you mean it when you said I could have you?"

"Yes," Farkas said intently.

"Did you ah, bring something?"

Farkas nodded, very glad that he had. Edric sighed happily and began kissing him again, and the warm, lithe body against him was driving Farkas crazy. Still, the slender lightness in his lap put the slightest dampener on his lust, making him worry that he'd never be able to have Edric in that way. He was just too small, and Farkas was not, and the beastblood made it hard to be gentle and go slow. He felt a hand wrap around him as Edric's kisses grew more insistent, then Edric slid down his legs and took him in his mouth.

Farkas bit his lip against a whimper as he watched Edric, watched that sweet, perfect mouth wrapped around him, a hand stroking him at the same time. Green eyes glanced up at him from beneath thick lashes and Farkas whispered roughly, "Beautiful."

Edric smiled then murmured against him, "Handsome." He ran his tongue up Farkas' length, holding his gaze, then smiled coyly again.

"C'mon," Farkas demanded impatiently, grabbing Edric's wrist and giving it a tug, and his beloved laughed and went along, and when Farkas scooped him up in his arms he laughed again, putting his arms around Farkas' neck as he kissed along his rough cheek. It was wonderful how light Edric was, and when Farkas laid him down on the bedroll and he stretched his arms over his head he had to resist the urge again to flip him onto his stomach and take him. Farkas ran his hands over every perfect inch, admiring, and Edric smirked at him and reached up to undo the braid then fluffed out his hair, watching Farkas' expression, and he let his beloved see whatever he wanted to see.

"Ah Farkas, I don't deserve you," Edric murmured.

"Bullshit." The other man laughed softly then reached out to grab Farkas' erection. Farkas grimaced and muttered, "I don't think we're ever going to be able to do it the other way." He was well aware of his size, something that had never been a problem before, especially with women. It made him feel a pang of guilt, thinking of Narri, and Vilkas, and he tried unsuccessfully to shove the thought away. Narri was a nice girl, and pretty, and Vilkas obviously liked her a great deal. Well Farkas liked her too, but not that way. Farkas feared that Edric had been right the other night when he'd said that Farkas would have to do the courting, implying Vilkas wasn't capable of it. Farkas wondered if that was where most of Vilkas' anger was coming from: fear that he would never have a wife unless Farkas wooed one for him.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," Edric said.

"What?" Farkas blinked in confusion, wondering for a second if Edric had read his mind.

"This." He gave Farkas a gentle squeeze and a tug that focused the big warrior's attention quite effectively. "If you take the time up front, I can certainly take this."

"Okay," Farkas whispered. Edric smiled warmly at him, green eyes sparkling, and any thoughts of his twin disappeared. _This_ was all that mattered. Edric was all that mattered. Farkas' life was his own, and he was going to have a life with Edric. He had always assumed his brother would be part of whatever life he had, but Vilkas had made it clear that he couldn't be. That hurt. It hurt that Vilkas refused to let Farkas be himself. Well, everyone knew now what Farkas was, so he didn't have to hide it anymore. As if he'd be able to after this trip.

He willingly let his beloved take control, Edric clearly knowing what he was doing. Well of course he knew; his tally of lovers no doubt made Farkas' pale in comparison, so of course he had probably had sex with taller Nord men plenty of times and knew how to make it work. And he did, so well that by time Edric entered him his head was about spinning. His little love held him tightly, a little too tightly, kissing and nibbling along his back, whispering Farkas' name when he wasn't moaning. It was wildly exciting to hear and feel his mate so lost in the experience and know he was the reason for it, and by Dibella it felt good, with that spicy scent all around, making him push back to meet the other man. He felt Edric tense and swell inside him then the thrusting nearly knocked the wind out of him before Edric let out a shout of release, and Farkas swore that he heard the faintest touch of thunder in it, something he didn't have the mind to contemplate at the moment, then a hand grasped him and any thought at all flew out the window.

He lay there catching his breath, savoring Edric's warmth on his back and inside him, his love seeming to be in no hurry to pull out. Farkas didn't mind that at all. Edric held him tightly, his head between Farkas' shoulder blades, and Farkas brought up his hand to find the one on his chest and hold it.

"Ah, _Farkas…"_

The warm murmur had a tone to it that hadn't quite been there before, and Farkas squeezed his hand then felt their fingers twine together. It was so intimate, so different from the other times he had been the one on this end of things. He wasn't even a little sore, Edric's size perfect for him; every other time he had done this had been with another Nord close to his size and even with the right preparation it still sometimes stung a bit afterward.

"That was…_fabulous,"_ Edric whispered.

"I'm glad, love," Farkas replied.

Edric sighed and gave Farkas a squeeze. "It's been so long. Gods, it felt good." He hesitated then asked, "Was it okay? For you?"

Farkas laughed, "Couldn't you tell? I wasn't faking it." The question was sweet though. Vulnerable. He felt Edric nod and relax a bit, placing a tender kiss on Farkas' shoulder. Edric pulled away the slightest bit, slipping out of him, leaving no discomfort behind, though a few of the nips on his back ached a bit. That was fine. He liked the idea that his mate had marked him, even if it was just temporary. He couldn't help wondering how much more energetic Edric would get if he took the wolf blood, though Farkas couldn't imagine it running much hotter than a dragon's.

"Good."

Edric slid off to the side, pulling Farkas around to face him. They kept their hands joined as Farkas leaned close to kiss him, and the way Edric's face shone made his heart sing. His beloved looked so happy. Purely and truly happy, the shadows behind his eyes chased away, for now. Farkas kissed Edric's forehead then said, "Let's get cleaned up, then I'll comb your hair out for you." Another nap would be nice too, but he didn't want to waste any more of the day sleeping. He was done fooling around for today though. At his age he couldn't go at it like he used to. Like Edric probably could. If his mate wanted more pleasuring he'd be happy to oblige, but Farkas was pretty satisfied.

"Ah, that would be wonderful." Edric paused, as if he was going to say more, then he seemed to reconsider and stayed silent, sighing happily as he gazed at Farkas.

Farkas kissed him once more then sat up and pulled the smaller man to his feet. Edric made a grunting sound then let go of him to get something out of his pack, and after a moment he came back up with a chunk of soap. Farkas didn't say anything, and didn't think his expression had changed, but Edric seemed embarrassed all of a sudden.

"I uh, I'm kind of ah, weird about…washing," the younger man explained haltingly, his cheeks faintly pink.

"Okay," Farkas said with a shrug.

"I could tell it annoyed Vilkas, while we were gone."

Farkas rolled his eyes and took Edric's hand again, leading him to the water. "A lot of things annoy my brother, especially these days." He shook himself. "Ugh, no more talking about him."

"Sorry."

"You liking being clean is fine by me. It's nice."

"It's just a habit I got into. After…well, it's been a while. I wasn't quite as…fussy, in the Legion."

"You must've been in a long time," Farkas prompted as they sat back down in the water, the tips of Edric's hair getting wet.

Edric nodded as he began to wash. "Mm-hm. A little over ten years."

"I thought so. What rank did you reach?"

"Um, Praefect." Farkas frowned in confusion at his tone, and Edric grimaced as he admitted, "I should've been Tribune by that time, but I ah, don't take orders very well."

Farkas snorted then laughed more loudly at that. That was easy to believe. The Dragonborn had nearly gotten his head chopped off for protesting orders.

Edric laughed slightly then went on, "I was always mouthing off, getting in trouble. As you can probably imagine."

"Naw."

Edric laughed again, a more real laugh this time. "Anyway," he drawled, "I enjoyed being in the Legion. Got to travel all over Cyrodiil, though it was a bit warm for us Nords. Summer along the southern borders is almost unbearable, but it's beautiful there. The air smells different. The flowers and plants and animals there, all so different. I miss that life, sometimes." He soaped up his hands then passed it to Farkas, who went along with it, not as worried about being clean but not minding it either. Edric washed his hands carefully then his groin, saying in a distracted tone, "I learned most of what I know in the Legion. When you spend ten years training every day, in both weapons and magic, you can't help but get pretty good, unless you're a hopeless case, and there were a few of those, but they usually fail out early. I was one of the few Nords that was any good at magic, or even had an interest in it, so I was kind of a novelty."

Farkas nearly told Edric what Kodlak had said about Nords and the Companions once using magic, but he wasn't sure what Kodlak had told the young man about pretty much anything, so he said nothing, simply nodding. It was good to hear all this though and see his mate opening up a bit. It was interesting, regardless.

Edric went on, "I told Kodlak that I feel the stance on magic up here is short-sighted. You know, I met a tribe of Nords on Solstheim who use magic. The Skaal."

"Yeah, I've heard of them. Wow, so you met some?"

"Aye, I stayed in their village for a while. I ah, guess I haven't had the chance yet to tell you much about the island. What it was like."

Farkas nodded and said, "I'd like to hear about it. When do you want to go look at that tree?"

Edric waved him off. "Right before we leave for home. I don't want to mess with a bucket of sap or whatever in the meantime."

_Home,_ Farkas thought with a surge of happiness. Edric thought of Jorrvaskr as home. His mate moved behind him and took the soap, using the lather to deeply rub Farkas' back, and he made a purring rumble of pleasure at the feel of strong hands doing everything just right, making him feel lazy and content. He silently thanked Mara that he had followed his instincts and done the right thing, in carving the bird and admitting his feelings. This was really only their first day together and he already couldn't quite remember what it felt like to be single and alone. Well, he would never have to worry about that ever again. Neither of them would.

* * *

**Dovahzul translation**

**_pek fah zey ko Sovngarde_ - wait for me in Sovngarde**


	17. Chapter 17

**Farkas, 7th of Frostfall, 4E205**

"Wow," Farkas breathed.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Edric whispered.

Farkas nodded, agreeing completely. Eldergleam Sanctuary was one of the prettiest places he had ever seen in Skyrim, warm and steamy, full of plants and flowers. He had been all over the country too and had never had a clue this was here, or maybe just hadn't been paying attention. There were a couple Nords here, eating together by a stream, and a multitude of butterflies, moths, torchbugs and dragonflies flitting about, but no other animal life. Sunlight streamed down from the ceiling in shafts of gold, lighting up the dust motes and steam in the air.

Edric took his hand and led him up the path and Farkas went along happily. He was just so happy. He was so happy that just looking at Edric now made him grin like an idiot. The last three days had been utterly perfect, full of talking and lovemaking and exploring the area. Last night they'd even gone over and visited with the hunters, drinking and sitting in the deep water for several hours, the hunters singing songs back and forth. It had been wonderful fun, though the entire time Farkas had half feared, half hoped that something 'interesting' would happen, as Edric had hinted at, but the mood had been mellow, not charged at all. Not that Farkas would have joined in anyway. He loved Edric too much to even look at anyone else. He liked to think Edric loved him too at this point, soon as it was. Sometimes Edric seemed on the edge of telling Farkas, only to pull back from it. It had only been a few days, so he didn't expect anything so soon anyway, but he longed to hear it. He longed to hear Edric sing, too. His love often hummed to himself and it seemed he would have a sweet singing voice, but that too seemed to be something Edric held back.

They stopped halfway up the steps to the huge tree, the way blocked by massive gnarled roots. Edric let go of Farkas' hand and took off his pack. Farkas stayed silent, wondering how the hell they were going to get up to the tree, and when he saw his mate pull out a nasty looking dagger that looked to be forged of ebony he grunted in apprehension. "Uh, what are you gonna do with that?" Farkas asked warily.

"Apply some _gentle_ persuasion to the tree," Edric stated.

"Where did you get it from?" The dagger looked evil, unnatural. Poking the tree with it seemed a very bad idea.

"Eh, I've had it for years. Got it off a hagraven somewhere in Falkreath, after fighting a bunch of witches. I never had any idea what it was for, but it looked important, so I stuck it away somewhere."

"It wasn't the hagraven you were engaged to, was it?" Edric stared at him for a moment then burst into laughter at the joke. It was the heartiest laughter Farkas had ever heard out of him, and he couldn't help laughing as well. Edric's smile was the sweetest thing in the world.

"Ha, no," Edric answered, still chuckling. "My fiancee was much prettier."

Farkas was relieved when Edric didn't ask him how he knew. They'd managed to not say a word about Vilkas since the day of Edric's birthday. They had talked about the Companions, and a great deal about Kodlak, but not Vilkas. Edric was genuinely fond of the old man and seemed deeply interested in his past, and Farkas was more than willing to tell him whatever he wanted to know, though he made sure not to mention the girl that Kodlak had briefly loved. That was a trust Farkas wasn't about to break, not even for Edric.

Edric twirled the dagger in the fingers of his left hand and murmured, "All right, then. Here goes."

He waved the blade in front of the nearest root, as thick around as Farkas' chest. Its bark looked thick and Farkas couldn't imagine how the thing was going to move without the whole thing cracking. It wasn't moving, so he supposed that was that.

"Come on," Edric muttered in annoyance. "Open up!"

"Didn't Danica tell you what to do?"

"Well, er…no," Edric admitted. "She just told me to use Nettlebane to retrieve some sap. Stick it in and twist it, she said, but she didn't mention the way being blocked." Farkas grunted, looking at the dagger. "Yeah, I guess that's its name: Nettlebane. Supposedly it's older than even the tree, which is older than metal. How anything on Nirn can be older than metal is beyond me, but that's what Danica said."

Farkas grimaced and said in a lowered voice, "I don't think sap is going to fix the Gildergreen, Edric honey. It's dead."

"I know it's dead. You know it's dead. Everyone knows it's dead except Danica. She needs to…um, well, pull her head out of somewhere dark." Edric shook his head in exasperation. "I think she's lost her way, a bit. It isn't her fault. I know the war screwed everything up for a few years. She spent so much time healing the sick and wounded that she's forgotten she's a priestess, not just a healer. I think Kyne zapped the tree for a reason. I still can't grasp the entire reason, but I can guarantee the goddess wasn't happy when she did it."

Farkas nodded, agreeing. It warmed him that Edric talked to him like he was a normal person, not like the halfwit everyone else did. He didn't always get everything Edric was saying at the time, but he remembered it, and he always eventually got it. Or usually did, anyway.

Edric's expression hardened as he turned back to the roots. "Fine, be that way," he said to the tree, and Farkas held his breath as his mate lashed out and hit the root with the flat of the blade.

The huge root slowly folded up and away with a creaking groan. "Holy shit," Farkas said in wonder, then he quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, remembering they were in a sacred place. Edric clucked his tongue at him, smirking, then moved on to the next root.

Four times Edric struck the roots out of the way, and when they reached the top Farkas whistled softly at the sight of the enormous tree. It was bigger than the Gildergreen had ever been, adorned with lush pink blossoms the same as the Gildergreen, giving off a soft flowery fragrance as sunlight streamed down through its branches from the open roof of the cave. The tree moved every so often as if a breeze was passing through it, but there was no breeze here.

"Kynareth bless," Edric whispered in a reverent tone, pulling out his amulet and kissing it. He dug out a washed, clean mead bottle for the sap then warily approached the tree, Nettlebane in hand. He stopped short of striking the tree, quickly drawing his hand back.

"What's wrong?" Farkas asked.

"I've got a _bad_ feeling about this," Edric muttered.

"How so?" Edric shivered and Farkas could see the goose bumps on his arms. The younger man put the dagger and bottle back in his pack then moved away from the tree, setting the pack against the back wall of the cavern.

"It's wrong somehow," Edric said in a tone of disquiet as Farkas joined him. "There's a reason Danica didn't want to come here and do this. She didn't even want to touch the knife." His expression turned sour. "I don't particularly appreciate this."

Farkas' eyebrows rose in surprise. "She wouldn't set you up!" Danica was a good woman, a holy woman, and a close friend of the Companions, one of the few who kept the secret of the Circle.

"No, but she probably thought it would be better for Kynareth to be pissed off at me than at her." He shook his head, his braid swaying. "There's a reason the Gildergreen was killed. Kynareth, Kyne, wouldn't have done that just to have Danica send me for sap. There's no…no _lesson_ in that. For anyone."

Farkas nodded silently, seeing the wisdom in that. A lot of people had thought for years that the tree was truly dead. Trying to revive a dead tree didn't make much sense. It would be like a weird sort of necromancy to even make the attempt.

He stayed where he was, silent, as Edric walked back to the tree. He himself had nothing to add, no way he could help, so he simply stayed out of the way and watched with a touch of nervousness as his lover slowly knelt among the roots at the base of the Eldergleam. Edric clutched his amulet and bowed his head and began to whisper. To pray.

Farkas squatted down on his heels, making himself small, feeling a soft breeze blow through the cavern. Edric didn't seem to notice, murmuring to himself in a constant stream, and when he began to rock softly it sent chills down Farkas' spine. He had never been a religious man. None of the Companions really were, except for Aela's devotion to Hircine; the rest of the Circle paid the Daedric Prince lip service, but that was it as far as Farkas knew. Farkas had seen priests pray plenty of times, watched them slide into that strange otherworldly state where everything around them seemed to cease to exist. It had been just like this. He heard the soft murmur grow the slightest bit louder, and he cupped his ears as he had the other day, and as he had the other day he heard the dragon language, making fresh chills play across his skin.

"_Hon zey, Kaan, fah vothni hi Zu'u los voj ahrk porah. Hon zey, Kaan, hon hin selor aar…"_

The words rolled off Edric's tongue in a sing-song tone, alien. Farkas wondered if Edric really would have stayed in High Hrothgar forever, if the Greybeards hadn't run out of mead as Vilkas had said. He wondered if eventually Edric would have become a Greybeard, though obviously without the beard, being all burnt up as he had been. Gods, that was painful to think about. Farkas had gotten burns before, and they hurt like hell, long past the time when any cut stopped hurting, an entirely different kind of pain that was harder to ignore. What must that have felt like, being in pain all the time even after being healed, missing an eye and half a face, one leg almost useless? How had that felt, to do so much for everyone, to risk one's life over and over again, putting off your own future for years on end, going to the land of the dead for Shor's sake, only to have it all fall apart?

Those screams he had heard echoed in his mind, gut-wrenching, haunting. And even after all that, the Dragonborn had forced himself down the Seven Thousand Steps just to give Ulfric hell for lying to him. He'd forced himself down them again to finish destroying the menace of the vampires. Farkas didn't believe he had come down just because he had run out of booze. Vilkas had said that only the Dragonborn could finish off the vampires, and only the Dragonborn could read the Elder Scrolls and not go blind or mad, though Farkas still couldn't make the connection between the two. The thought that Edric had done such a thing though was mind-boggling, but then it didn't take much to boggle Farkas' mind, he thought numbly. Supposedly the Dragonborn had even fought another Dragonborn on Solstheim. Again, while crippled. Farkas simply couldn't grasp what his mate had done. What his mate was.

Edric leaned his forehead against the tree, and Farkas heard, _"Gesaag zey, Monah do Muz. Zu'u los Ysmir, Zu'u los hin kul. Gesaag zey fos wah dreh, Briinah Skar. Bolaav zey hin revak su'um…"_

_Ysmir,_ Farkas thought with a reverent shudder, letting his hands fall. It was Vilkas' favorite oath, _By Ysmir,_ and Ysmir himself was living under Jorrvaskr's roof. Ysmir was Farkas' lover. Farkas again debated telling Vilkas who Edric really was. The Dragonborn had ticked off his twin, but Vilkas had been sympathetic after his return from Windhelm. Maybe if Vilkas knew that Edric was Dragonborn and remembered how he had suffered, how he had made so many sacrifices for everyone, Vilkas might warm to him a little.

As Edric fell silent Farkas shook his head and pushed the brief impulse aside, again. Edric didn't want anyone to know he was Dragonborn, simple as that. Kodlak and Skjor knew, but if Edric wanted anyone else to know he would tell them. It hurt a little that he hadn't told Farkas yet, but Farkas just had to be patient. It took time to earn someone's trust, and it wasn't that Edric _dis_trusted him. It wasn't that at all. Edric probably just wanted to be really sure that Farkas loved him for the right reasons.

His beloved nodded slightly, seemingly to himself, and Farkas watched with an eerie feeling as Edric turned and sat down cross-legged with his back to the base of the tree, his gaze unfocused. He pulled his small knife from his belt, the one every Nord carried with them from the age of seven or eight, male and female alike, used for just about everything. He pulled off his right gauntlet then held out his right hand, and Farkas held his breath as his mate stabbed the tip of the knife into his palm. He gritted his teeth against saying anything, didn't let himself move, sure there was a purpose behind this. Maybe Kynareth had told Edric to do it, though Farkas couldn't begin to guess why. The blood dripped into the soil and Edric closed his eyes and let the knife fall, grabbing for his amulet again, and Farkas stayed silent and still as he waited and Edric began praying again under his breath.

The high-pitched cry of a bird of prey startled Farkas, and he looked up as a shadow passed through the shafts of sunlight. It was only a hawk flying over the hill that housed the cavern, but the timing of it made the hair all over Farkas' body stand on end. He heard excited voices from the two people below as a wind swirled its way through the cave, and his gaze went back to Edric to see petals from the Eldergleam drifting around him like pink snowflakes. He seemed unaware of it, sitting motionless except for the movement of his lips and the slow drip of his blood. It was soaking into the soft soil before him, and Farkas clamped his lips shut against a whine of anxiety. He couldn't imagine what on earth his beloved was trying to do, but it was frightening and more than a little morbid. Not that he would let Edric see that. Well, he'd try not to.

The two Nords from below came running up the pathway and stopped short when they saw Edric. Farkas didn't pull his gaze away from his mate, didn't move a muscle, and the two people didn't seem to notice him, instead staring at Edric with wide eyes then sinking to their knees and clutching at each other's hands, the woman pointing excitedly at the spot in front of the tree where the soil was beginning to churn.

_Blessed Kynareth,_ Farkas thought in reverent fear as a pale white shoot began curling its way out of the bloody dirt. It was one thing to see someone do magic. This was the work of a Divine, the answer to a prayer. The Dragonborn's prayer to his patron goddess. The sprout continued to grow until it reached roughly two feet in height, then short branches began to unfurl. Buds formed then swelled then the sapling burst into blossom, sending a sweet fragrance wafting on the breeze. When the scent hit his nose Farkas huffed with wide eyes and huddled in on himself; the flowery perfume was touched with the scent of cinnamon. The blossoms were the same deep pink as its parent tree, but every so often one was streaked with red.

Edric opened his eyes with a shuddering sigh, looking exhausted, then he blinked in surprise at the baby tree before him. He looked at his right palm in confusion then curled his hand into a fist, and when the two people rose to their feet and hesitantly approached he frowned, holding his hand to his chest.

"Who are you, stranger?" the man whispered as he knelt on the other side of the sapling, the woman going with him.

"_Nimun,"_ Edric said shortly. He cleared his throat. "Nobody. I'm nobody."

"Doubtful," the woman said in a wary tone. Farkas stood, and the clanking of his armor drew the Nords' attention. "Companion!" she said in shock. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough," Farkas said evasively. He wasn't a small man but he knew how to make himself unobtrusive and stick to the shadows when he wanted to. He picked up Edric's pack and brought it to him, kneeling next to him. His mate avoided his gaze, his cheeks flushed, as if he was embarrassed, and Farkas put his hand on his shoulder. "This will make Danica happy," he said to him. "A lot of people happy."

The man muttered, "Danica Pure-Spring, eh? Couldn't be bothered to do her dirty work herself, is that it?"

Farkas stated in a careful tone, "Her work keeps her busy." He took off his own pack to find something to bandage up Edric's hand; blood was still seeping slowly through his fingers.

"This is supposed to be her work!"

The woman asked Edric, "You are a Companion as well?" Edric shrugged. "Well, whatever you are, you are blessed of Kynareth," she said warmly. She tentatively leaned down and drew in a breath then sighed in pleasure. "What a wonder this is. You are taking it back to Whiterun, yeah?"

Edric nodded, and when Farkas gently tugged on his wrist he offered up his hand. The wound wasn't wide but it was deep, and Farkas resisted the urge to chide Edric for it. At least it wasn't his dominant hand. The wound on his shoulder had healed quickly, barely more than a scar at this point, so this should heal fast as well, but Farkas still didn't like seeing his beloved bleed, and liked even less seeing him cut himself.

The man sighed and admitted, "I am glad someone finally did something about the Gildergreen. It's a disgrace."

The woman put her hand on his shoulder and soothed, "Now Sond. The Divines work in ways we rarely understand. There was a purpose behind the goddess striking down the tree." She smiled at Edric. "Perhaps this will show Danica that the true blessings of nature lie in renewal, in rebirth. Not some slavish maintenance."

Sond nodded and stated, "Kyne takes with one hand and gives with the other. Perhaps now Danica will see that the old tree's demise was a sign of the goddess' displeasure." He smiled at Edric, gripping his left forearm briefly. "You have Kyne's favor, stranger." His hand fell away and he reached out a finger to lightly touch one of the red-streaked blossoms. "This little one was born of your blood, a high favor indeed. How will you get this child of yours back to the city?"

Edric stared at the man with a stricken expression, then he swallowed and looked up at Farkas. They had only planned to gather a bit of sap, not take home a living plant. He lowered his eyes then said to Farkas, "The cooking pot."

"Aye, love," Farkas agreed, clearing his throat when the man and woman looked between the two of them with raised eyebrows then shrugged and turned their attention back to the sapling. He tied off the bandage then murmured, "I'll be right back." Edric nodded, and Farkas rose to his feet and jogged down the path. Their camp was already packed up, the bulk of their gear waiting at the entrance to the cavern, so it would take just a few minutes to get a pot to put the tree into. It would only take a little over a day to get back to Whiterun; if they started right now they'd be home before dinner tomorrow.

They'd make quite an entrance, that was for sure. It made Farkas' heart swell with pride at the thought of going through the city gates with Edric at his side, a baby Gildergreen in his lover's hands. His man. His mate had brought about the means of reinvigorating the heart of the city. Whiterun was at the center of Skyrim and Farkas remembered the masses of pilgrims that had once passed through to see the tree, but they had stopped four years ago. Word would no doubt quickly spread that Kynareth had blessed Whiterun with a new tree. It was exciting. Like a fresh start. Yes, that was exactly what it was. A new lease on life for Edric, and for Farkas, and a new tree for Whiterun. For the rest of his life Farkas would look on the tree, watching it grow, and feel like it was a symbol of the way they had started their new life together. It was a good, good thing.

* * *

**Dovahzul translations:**

**_Hon zey, Kaan, fah vothni hi Zu'u los voj ahrk porah. Hon zey, Kaan, hon hin selor aar…_  
**Hear me, Kyne, for without you I am deaf and blind. Hear me, Kyne, hear your devout servant…

**_Gesaag zey, Monah do Muz. Zu'u los Ysmir, Zu'u los hin kul. Gesaag zey fos wah dreh, Briinah Skar. Bolaav zey hin revak su'um..._  
**Tell me, Mother of Men. I am Ysmir, I am your son. Tell me what to do, Sister Hawk. Grant me your sacred breath...

**_Nimun_  
**Nobody


	18. Chapter 18

**Vilkas, 8th of Frostfall, 4E205**

Vilkas scowled at the dummy as another round of _oohs_ and _ahhs_ reached his ears, and he clenched his jaw and put his training sword on his shoulder as he looked up at the Skyforge to see the two Gray-Manes standing at the edge of the rocks, shading their eyes against the setting sun. The red of the sunset began to take on a yellowish-orange glow, and a moment later Vilkas smelled smoke.

He frowned and put the training sword on the rack then quickly made his way around to the front of the mead hall, where he saw most of his shield-siblings standing at the top of the steps, all but Aela and Njada who were out on a job together. Farkas held Kodlak in his arms, bundled in his bedding like a child, but the old man was beaming, smiling from ear to ear, his silver eyes shining in a face that grew thinner by the week. A wave of fury and hurt going through him, Vilkas hung back by the stone wall that separated the grounds from the rest of the city. So Farkas hadn't bothered to greet him. Gone nearly a week and his own twin didn't even have the time of day for him now.

He pulled his gaze from the others and looked down at the plaza, where it seemed the entire city had turned out, even the reclusive Farengar of all people. Vilkas' eyes widened in shock as he watched flames creeping up the dry trunk of the Gildergreen. Someone was burning down the Gildergreen. He heard footsteps and saw Skjor coming towards him, and he whispered in confusion, "What in Oblivion is going on?"

"Farkas and the whelp brought back a new tree," the one-eyed old warrior answered. Vilkas stared blankly at him. "It's kind of a puny little thing. They brought it back in a cooking pot," he finished with a snort of amusement.

"But…" Vilkas turned his gaze back to the plaza, and a moment later a collective whoop went up as the fire reached the upper branches and the tree began to burn in earnest. It seemed sacrilegious to celebrate such a thing. And yet there was Danica front and center, a broad grin on her face, the aforementioned cooking pot in her hands, from which sprouted a silver-barked sapling with pink and red flowers. Red. Why were some of the flowers red? Edric was at her side, looking resigned to the attention, and Jarl Vignar was at his other side, his wrinkled old face sporting a wide smile beneath his moustache, his hand on the young man's shoulder.

Skjor quietly said, "This has made Kodlak very happy, brother. Try, will you?"

"Aye," Vilkas muttered, and Skjor nodded and returned to the others. It was so hard though to keep a lid on his anger. He had vacillated between fury and embarrassment ever since Farkas and Edric had left town. Mostly fury, but he realized in hindsight (always in hindsight) that he had acted like a crazy person. He had embarrassed his twin, and the Companions. He hadn't left Jorrvaskr's grounds since, too ashamed to show his face in town. And then it enraged him, knowing it never would have happened if his brother hadn't spent half their adult lives pretending. Hiding. Deceiving. Misleading. Vilkas had spent the last ten years looking forward to the day he could marry and have a family, and Farkas had played along, and now Vilkas had no hope at all of living the life he had planned. All because his idiot, ice-brained twin had become infatuated with a pretty piece of ass.

It didn't take long for the tree to begin crumbling in upon itself, dry as an old bone, and when a breeze blew through the plaza the townsfolk sent up cries praising Kynareth, and Kyne. It was ridiculous. The wind always blew here. It wasn't as if the Divine herself had sent a breeze just then. Fools.

Vilkas growled irritably and turned away, going back to the training yard. He heard a flute start to play and he gritted his teeth, picking up his sword. Town full of morons celebrating the burning of a dead tree. He hacked at the dummy as the shadows lengthened, his mood not improving as he seethed over his brother and Edric. Now that they had no doubt consummated their relationship Vilkas had no chance at all of getting his twin away from the newblood. Short of Edric somehow meeting his end there was no hope whatsoever of setting Farkas to rights again.

It was full dark out when he heard someone come out the back doors. He smelled spice on the wind and instantly tensed up, squeezing the handle of his training sword so hard that it was amazing the steel didn't warp in his hands. He could hear the remnants of a celebration still going on in the plaza below. He heard the soft scuff of a boot and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to spin around and lay into the whelp with the sword. He heard an exasperated sigh and his shoulders bunched up. "Why aren't you still at your little party?" he spat.

"Not _my_ party," Edric quietly stated. "It has nothing to do with me at all."

"You're full of shit."

"Come on, Vilkas," Edric pleaded. Vilkas turned slowly to look at him, his eyes like ice. Edric had recently bathed, his hair still damp, pulled back loosely from his face instead of braided as it usually was, and he was wearing a tunic and pants instead of his sleeveless steel armor. "We have to get along," Edric demanded.

"No, we do not," Vilkas sneered. The younger man folded his arms, his lips pursed.

"Yes we do. For Farkas' sake. And maybe for your own."

Vilkas growled, "I do not need your concern, whelp. The only thing I need is for you to leave."

"Okay. So lets say I do just leave Jorrvaskr—"

"Yes, do that."

Edric's eyes narrowed. "Even if I just left, it wouldn't change things for Farkas. It wouldn't change who he is. It's what he's been all along."

"It was never an issue before!"

"Because you made it impossible for him to talk to you about it!" Edric retorted. Vilkas bared his teeth at him in a snarl, and Edric put a hand over his face then let it fall. "Look, if you loved your brother you would want him to be happy—"

"If he loved me he would want the same for me!"

"He does want that. So go to Falkreath and ask Narri to marry you."

Vilkas said in disgust, "Oh, of course. Because it is that easy. The blood is always howling inside me and I'm supposed to… Bah, you little bastard—"

"I told you I was."

"Not funny!" Vilkas shouted as he advanced on Edric. The other man's stance changed to one of easy readiness, his arms loose at his sides, no doubt ready to blast Vilkas with another paralyzing spell. He stopped a few feet away, so close he could smell the ale on Edric's breath. He whispered harshly, "You will _ruin_ my brother. He should have a wife and children—"

"He'll have a husband and children instead."

The open admission was enraging, making Vilkas have to fight not to swing the great-sword at the newblood. Remove him from the equation. Put things back the way they were. The training sword was dull, but it would be easy enough to kill someone with it.

"They won't be of his blood!" Vilkas protested.

"Is that all that matters?"

"Yes!"

Edric shrugged and grunted. "All right then. I suppose Kodlak means nothing to you after all. Since there's no blood shared between you, and that's all that matters, and the father you won't admit to means everything, is that it?"

"You…_dare_ to mention Jergen to me!" Vilkas hissed.

"If Kodlak is the father of your heart then your statements make no sense! What does it matter if Farkas and I adopt—"

"You will never, _ever_ marry my brother," Vilkas growled low, closing in on the smaller man. Edric backed away, his hands up. Vilkas barely noticed the bandage around his right hand, and didn't particularly care. "You came out here just to rub my nose in it, didn't you? He can't be bothered to even say hello to me, and yet you are out here and shove it under my nose, that you are fucking around with my brother."

"I'm trying to make you see sense, damn it! I'm trying to make peace with you!"

"There will never be peace between us! The only peace will come when one of us is in the ground!"

Edric's eyes widened as he exclaimed in a disbelieving tone, "You crazy son of a bitch!"

"Oh, I am the crazy one? This from the man who tore apart Ulfric's palace?" Vilkas was satisfied to see Edric's nostrils flare as an expression of betrayal crossed his face. "Tell me, how long before you get my brother killed? How long before he ends up like Lydia, or Argis, or Ral—"

"Shut up!" Edric shouted.

Vilkas smirked and stated in a mocking tone, "Ralof. Ralof Ralof Ralof—" His breath rushed out of him in a _whoof_ as Edric tackled him around the middle. He landed on the cobblestones, barely catching himself before his head smacked on the ground. He lashed out and slugged Edric in the ribs, and the other man bellowed in a rage and smashed Vilkas' in return, making him cry out in pain as he felt his ribcage cave in. He landed another weaker blow to Edric's shoulder, every breath burning, and he distantly heard the back doors of the mead hall burst open.

"I'm going to _fucking kill you!"_ Edric roared. He pulled back his fist for another strike when Farkas grabbed him from behind and hauled him off Vilkas.

Vilkas stared in shock as Edric thrashed like a madman then broke free, going after Vilkas again, and Farkas grit his teeth and grabbed for him again, this time Skjor and Athis helping to hold him back. Ria and Torvar looked on from the porch, the girl's expression full of anxiety.

"What the hell is going on here!" Skjor shouted. Edric was breathing heavily, his eyes wild, though it seemed he wasn't about to try breaking free again. Skjor looked behind him at Vilkas, who was gingerly picking himself up off the ground, holding his right side. "Well?"

Vilkas said in breathless pain, "He is out of his mind, that's what's going on."

Edric yelled, "You lying, evil motherfucker!"

"Calm down, damn you," Skjor demanded. Edric made a sound of fury but contained himself, shaking with rage as he glared hatefully at Vilkas. "What happened?" he asked Edric.

"I came out here to make peace with him and he threw my dead husband in my face!"

Athis' eyes widened in surprise while Farkas' mouth fell open, a grieved look of dismay on his face. Ria gasped, putting her hand over her mouth.

Skjor shook his head and said to Vilkas, "That's low even for you."

"After he brought up Jergen!" Vilkas protested. He hugged his ribs and spat at the younger man, "At least I know who my father is, bastard!" Farkas made a choking sound of anger as Ria gasped again and Torvar snickered and Athis slowly shook his head in disapproval. Instead of getting angrier Edric went still and cold. Skjor stared at the young man in warning but Edric only had eyes for Vilkas.

"You're going to choke on your words one day, you sadistic sack of shit," Edric promised.

"Edric!" Farkas whispered in shock. Edric shook him and Athis off then stalked away, holding his own ribs. The dark elf shook his head again and looked at Skjor, who patted him on the shoulder, and the Dunmer left as well, following Edric inside, a frantic Ria on his heels.

Skjor turned to look at Vilkas, who growled, "He started it. I was out here minding my own business."

Skjor stared evenly at him and said with a nod, "Uh huh. So when I go in there and ask Edric exactly how the conversation went, you're going to come out smelling like roses, is that it? Edric came out here just to start a fight with you?"

"You heard him. He said he was going to kill me, and it isn't the first time he's said it!" Skjor shook his head, and Vilkas said to his brother, "You heard him!" Farkas stared back, a wounded expression on his face, then his twin lowered his eyes, his jaw clenched.

Skjor stated, "The whelp was pissed off, and rightly so. By the Nine, Vilkas, his dead husband? Are you that far gone?" Vilkas frowned and his eyes slid away.

Farkas said in a hurt voice, "I told him to stay away from you and leave you alone. You didn't come in for dinner and he said it was stupid you two can't get along and he swore you wouldn't start arguing, so I let him go, and I shouldn't have. I should've known."

"He started it!" Vilkas swore.

"How?" Skjor asked. Vilkas hesitated, and the old warrior said in disgust, "I thought as much." Farkas growled and walked back to the mead hall, his body stiff with anger. Skjor watched him go, and Torvar lingered, watching them. Skjor pointed at the doors and the blonde narrowed his eyes in irritation and went inside. He turned back to Vilkas, putting his hands on his hips. "This has _got_ to stop," Skjor said in quiet warning.

"He should not be here!" Vilkas angrily stated. His ribs were aching fiercely, stabbing with every breath.

"Kodlak wants him here. Does that mean nothing to you?"

Vilkas ignored the question and walked gingerly towards the porch and Skjor followed. Vilkas picked up the closest healing potion and downed it, feeling relief flow into him as his ribs knitted back together. By the Nine the little bastard could throw a punch.

"You saw how happy the old man was today. You've seen how having Edric here has lifted his spirits. He's _dying,_ Vilkas," Skjor said in a strained voice. "Do not add to his cares. Or mine."

"Edric is upending everything here," Vilkas said with resentment.

"Maybe so. Maybe it needs to be upended." Vilkas made a scoffing sound of contempt. Skjor folded his arms and sat on the edge of the table as he went on, "Edric is trying to fit in here—"

"You think he can do that?"

"He could if you gave him a chance."

Vilkas laughed. "I should give _him_ a chance? Sure, I should bend over backwards to accommodate a whelp."

"You should show some basic consideration to the person who saved not only your life but your brother's."

Vilkas scowled at that. Yes, he knew very well that he and Farkas both would be dead right now if not for Edric. But that didn't give Edric the right to screw everything up here. It didn't give Edric the right to insinuate himself into nearly every aspect of the Companions after only a few weeks here. Vilkas didn't care who or what he was, Edric didn't have the right to even be here no matter who had invited him. He was the goddamned Dragonborn and he could have gone just about anywhere but Jorrvaskr.

Skjor went on, "If you had any sense you would give in to the blood—" Vilkas shook his head curtly, growling in irritation. "Only until Kodlak has his cure. Go ahead and give up the gift, I don't care at this point. But you are the only one causing any problems here, brother, and it's because of your handling of the beastblood. You are the one the whelps are afraid of, the one the Circle worries over, the one stressing Kodlak and your twin. Edric has been a valuable addition to our order."

"Oh, yes, of course he has," Vilkas said bitterly. "Wonderful, lovely little Edric. So skilled. So special. We should all be grateful that the illustrious hero has finally decided to grace us all with his presence here." Skjor stared at him for a long moment through that single silver eye, with Vilkas staring back, mentally daring him to admit it, then the Harbinger lifted his chin and nodded once.

"I see." There would probably be no more admission than that, but it was an admission.

Vilkas said in a tone of desperation, "He threatened to kill me, damn it! On the job, before we had even gotten to Dustman's Cairn!"

"If I considered you a danger to Whiterun, I would kill you myself."

Vilkas went pale, staring at Skjor in alarm, then he swallowed and lowered his eyes. Skjor was his forebear, and that hurt to hear. The old warrior's statement had been made without malice, stated as simple fact. There had been malice in Edric's threat though. Vilkas didn't doubt that Edric was well on his way to hating him just as much as he despised the newblood.

Skjor went on matter-of-factly, "If Edric wanted you dead, he would have had a very handy opportunity in the Cairn. He could have let you get killed at any point and when we went to reclaim the body there would have been no questions asked."

"He only saved me because of Farkas."

"He and Farkas weren't together at that point." Skjor's eye narrowed. "Don't think I don't know that _that_ is the root of the problem between you and the lad. I'm not going to get into it with you, because frankly I still think it's a little weird, whatever arrangement you and Farkas used to have, but I'm telling you right now that your brother's business is his own. Every man and woman here has the right to follow their own path, and no one else can determine that for them. Farkas is a grown man and has been for a very, very long time. You keep going the way you are and you will alienate everyone in this hall. You've already lost everyone's trust—"

"It's the blood's fault," Vilkas said helplessly.

Skjor sputtered in derision as he stood away from the table. "Bullshit excuse," he stated with impatience, making a cutting motion with his hands. "You chose this, Vilkas. You chose to give up your transformations, which means you've chosen to have these problems. You can still take the cure when it's found. You don't have to put yourself and all the rest of us through all this shit. You're not proving anything to anyone, except that your judgment should be doubted." Vilkas' mouth pursed as he looked past the Harbinger, glowering. "The anniversary of the Battle of Solitude is in five days. You say one word to Edric about it, or his dead husband, and I'm going to let him have you. There _might_ be enough left of you afterwards to drag down the hill to Danica."

"Nice," Vilkas said in aggravation.

"You started the fight. We both know that. Maybe you even goaded him into hitting you first to give you a reason to hit back, knowing you can heal and he can't."

His eyes widened as he stated, "That is not true." That accusation hurt. It hadn't been anywhere in his mind. In hindsight he wasn't really sure what he had been thinking. He had intended to needle the younger man, certainly, but he had expected Edric to lose his temper and stalk off, not attack him. And here Vilkas was whole with not even a bruise to show for the encounter, while Edric had left holding his side in pain.

"Aela thinks you should be caged. Should you?" Vilkas shook his head curtly. Skjor made a sound of exasperation and muttered, "Shor's bones, Vilkas, his dead husband?"

"He leaves death in his wake," Vilkas said in a defensive tone. "Two housecarls and Ralof. I do not want my brother to be next, that is all I said."

"And just like that, I'm sure. All three died doing their jobs. He insisted when he joined us that no shield-siblings go with him on jobs unless there's no other choice."

"Probably because he doesn't want to get caught fighting a dragon and have himself outed to everyone when he takes its soul."

Skjor shrugged. "Yes, that is one of the reasons. He wants to earn his place here on his own merits as a warrior, without his status coloring anyone's opinion. He also wants to keep Ulfric off his back as long as possible." He narrowed his eye. "Don't even dream—"

"I am not so petty!" Vilkas protested. It was a relief though to hear Skjor admit to it, that Edric was Dragonborn. Even if he had seen Edric shout with his own eyes and heard it with his own ears, he still feared that people would think he was out of his mind if he told anyone.

The Harbinger turned away, saying, "You taunted a widower. Doesn't matter who he is. I'm not putting much of anything past you anymore."

Vilkas scowled at Skjor's back until the older man went inside. He huffed with mixed hurt and lingering anger as he went back to the yard to retrieve his training sword. He and Edric both were lucky to have not been impaled on it, dull or not.

He put the sword away, feeling lonely, and a touch guilty, and still irritated, but most of all lonely. He had never been terribly sociable, insofar as making small talk, but it wasn't as if he didn't find sitting with his shield-siblings pleasant. And training with them. Now he could do neither, because no one wanted him around, because of the damned beastblood. Even his own twin, the one person who could tolerate him even at his worst, didn't want him around. Didn't seek out his company. And why should Farkas, when he had such fair company now, who did all the things for him Vilkas once had, and warmed his bed too? It was pretty much impossible to compete with that.

When he went inside the mead hall he didn't even bother to glance at the tables. He didn't want to meet anyone's eyes or even see who was there. He didn't care. This place was going to Oblivion and he couldn't stop it, and Edric was at the heart of it all. He had started everything on its downhill slide when he'd walked into Jorrvaskr the day he had captured the dragon Odahviing. Whatever he had told the old man that day had set all these events in motion. There was hardly a single thing of any significance that had happened in Skryim for four years now that Edric hadn't stuck his dainty fingers into.

When Vilkas reached the living area he saw Kodlak's outer doors closed, and he growled low to himself in protective anger, certain that the whelp was in there pouring his guts out to the old man, getting him all stirred up. He turned down his hall and saw Farkas' door closed as well, and he stopped there, resisting the urge to go pound on it and demand that his brother just come out and make a choice between Vilkas or Edric, but he knew how that would go, and the little voice of reason that grew ever more infrequent told him that the kind of person who would force a choice like that wasn't worth choosing.

He heard the rumble of his twin's deep voice, and he pulled off his hard-soled boots and walked softly over to listen at the door. He dreaded hearing something intimate, and it was silent for a moment before he heard Farkas' voice again, soothing and sorrowful.

"My poor sweetheart."

Vilkas sneered in disgust, shaking his head. You couldn't call another man sweetheart, no matter how much smaller than you they were. He heard a sob then a sniff, and his eyebrows rose in shock. Edric was…crying. He was actually crying.

"I just…I miss him so much. I kissed him goodbye when we reached Solitude and he went to his unit and I never saw him again. Well, I mean…" Edric sniffed hard. "I never even visited his grave. I couldn't do it. I still can't. I'm a fucking coward."

"God, my poor baby. I'll go with you, if you want."

Another sniff. "I can't. I'm not ready. It still hurts too much." Edric's voice hardened. "And then…then that _asshole_ brother of yours, throwing it in my face like that. It isn't my…Vilkas tried to make it seem like it was my fault! I tried to keep Ray— I tried to keep him out of the battle and he wouldn't let me! He begged me not to tell anyone we were married or keep him out of the fighting, but he was a soldier, we both were, what else could I do but let him go?" he wept furiously.

Vilkas shuddered and backed away from the door, blinking rapidly, then he fled into his room and nearly slammed the door shut, catching it just before it connected. He eased it closed then woodenly walked over to his bed and slowly sat down on it, dropping the boots next to it. He stared at the room divider, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat, and failing. He squeezed his eyes shut but images of a burnt and ruined face appeared, making him gasp and his eyes fly open. _You are small, Vilkas,_ the voice whispered. _Small. Cruel. Petty. Mean._

He took a deep breath and stood again, numbly going to the mannequin in his room where his armor stood. Yes, he was all those things. He didn't used to be. He had never had his brother's soft heart, but he had never been unkind either. He had never been malicious. He would never have dreamed of rubbing someone's nose in the death of their loved ones. He would never have tolerated anyone mistreating any of the whelps or threatening his family, and at the moment the only threat Vilkas could see to the Companions was himself.

He stripped off his clothes then dressed in the leather pants and doublet that went under his armor. He then donned his armor, feeling miserable. He wasn't really sure where he was going, but he wasn't staying here. Not tonight, at least. When he was geared up and ready to leave he sorted through the contracts on his dresser and found one that would get him a decent distance away from here, for a good four or five days if he took his time, and he intended to. Bandits had taken up residence in Robber's Gorge yet again, extorting travelers and pretending to be soldiers of Hjaalmarch, and Jarl Sorli had put a sizable bounty on their heads.

It took less than an hour to get armored and ready to go. It wasn't the best idea to leave on a job at this hour, which had to be close to seven at night, but it wouldn't be the first time a Companion had done so, usually after receiving a desperate missive to rescue a kidnap victim or apprehend a criminal when the hold guards couldn't cross borders to do so, though they never left alone unless it was an emergency. He left his room, not bothering to be quiet about it, and when he paused in the hall he heard only silence from his twin's room. Farkas' bed was much too small for a bedmate, was barely able to contain just Farkas, and it was bad form to share a bed in that way under Jorrvaskr's roof, but as Skjor had made clear—and Edric, and Aela, and Kodlak—it was none of Vilkas' damn business. But if he _ever_ heard them going at it in there he was going to raise hell.

He paused at the end of the living quarters, grabbing some healing and stamina potions, and as he did so he heard a door open and his twin's familiar footsteps. He ignored them, wondering if Farkas was going to get his little darling something to drink, since it seemed Edric couldn't go more than a couple hours without one. It was odd that someone like the Dragonborn, someone with such incredible willpower that he could fight a demigod while half dead, who could drag himself up and down a mountain while crippled, couldn't control such a behavior. As Edric had admitted however, he didn't want to stop. Vilkas had seen plenty of alcoholics and it was obvious when drink was taking its toll, but Edric showed no physical signs of it. Maybe it was the dragon blood keeping him healthy, who knew. It was still pathetic.

"Where are you going this late?" The worry in Farkas' voice was obvious, as was the lingering anger.

Vilkas didn't look at him as he tersely replied, "Out."

"Why?"

"I don't want to get into it." Well, he did, but he knew if he did that he would lose his temper. Again.

"You shouldn't go out on a job alone."

"And yet I am." He stowed the potions in his pack then slung it onto his shoulder, and Farkas grabbed his other to stop him. He narrowed his eyes at his brother, and when he smelled cinnamon it made Vilkas' lip curl as he growled, "I smell him on you." Farkas' hand fell away and he stepped back as his cheeks turned pink, but he didn't look away. "Where is he?"

"Asleep." Farkas' expression hardened as he stated, "He just about cried himself to sleep because of you."

Vilkas' jaw clenched as his mouth twisted, and he struggled for a moment before muttering, "What I said was uncalled for. He tried to make peace, and I didn't wish to." Farkas sighed and looked at him sadly. It was as close to an apology as Vilkas could get. He hitched his pack higher on his shoulder and walked past his twin. "And I still don't wish to. Keep him away from me. Far away."

He yanked the door open and left, hearing his brother softly calling his name, telling him to wait, but Farkas didn't come after him, and Vilkas didn't expect him to. It wasn't hard to choose between the brother that made everything difficult and the sweet-faced, sweet-smelling dragon in his bed. It had no doubt reduced Farkas to mush to have his little lover sobbing in his arms. Farkas had probably petted and soothed him right to sleep.

A sudden heavy ache in his chest made Vilkas huff to himself as he passed through the mead hall, and he sensed others around the fire but ignored their existence. He couldn't get out of Jorrvaskr fast enough. This job was a bit much for a single Companion to handle, but he would do so more than adequately. And if he wasn't adequate for it, well, that would solve Edric's problem and his own quite neatly, at least on this plane. The thought sent a thrill of fear through him. _No._ No damn way he was going to die while his soul was still unclean. Knowing his luck, Edric would take the blood and end up in the Hunting Grounds too someday, and then he'd never be free of the little bastard.

He passed through the plaza, and he had to stop for a moment to stare. It was shocking to see the sky so empty within the circle of trellises that ringed the area. The smell of smoke was still strong in the air, but nothing remained of the old Gildergreen but the ash that the three adherents of Kynareth were happily mixing into the damp soil around the little tree with their bare hands, the sleeves of their robes rolled up to the elbows. The thing was just as puny as Skjor had joked, but it was vibrantly alive, covered in blossoms, its bark glistening with health in the torchlight.

Danica glanced up and smiled brilliantly at him, happier than he had seen her in years, a smudge of dirt or ash across her forehead. He nodded to her, unable to summon up a smile of his own, and forced himself to approach. The benches had been put back into place, and she stood and dusted off her hands while Jenssen and Ahlam continued planting the sapling, something they'd no doubt had to wait to do until the soil had cooled. It was odd that there wasn't even a stump left, only bare ashy ground. The crowd had dispersed except for the few guards who usually patrolled the area, lending their torchlight to the work.

"Hail Companion," the priestess said as she came up to him. "It is a glorious day for Whiterun, isn't it? Who would have thought, a baby Gildergreen of all things. And yet it is fitting. Fresh starts and new life. Change. It is what Kynareth is all about, yeah? It shames me to think of how long I had forgotten that."

"Aye," he muttered. Vilkas frowned at the tree and said, "Some of the flowers are red. Where did the tree come from?"

Danica looked confused. "Didn't you talk to your brother?" Vilkas shook his head. Danica eyed him with a much too thoughtful expression for a moment before saying, "The tree came from the Eldergleam Sanctuary, in the volcanic tundra of Eastmarch." Vilkas nodded, having heard of the place. "Edric prayed to Kynareth, through the Eldergleam, to tell him what to do to repair the Gildergreen. She told him to mix his blood with the earth at the tree's feet. When he did, a sapling sprouted. Farkas and two worshipers saw this miracle with their own eyes." Vilkas was horrified by that, staring at her in shock. Danica shrugged. "We must not forget that Kynareth is only the more gentle aspect of Kyne, and the Mother of Men and Beasts is not afraid to ask for a sacrifice. That is why the baby tree is streaked with red: it is borne of Edric's blood. Gruesome, it is true, but as with the destruction of the old tree, it is Kyne's message to us: sometimes the old must die and blood must be shed to bring about new life."

"Eh…aye," Vilkas said in an uncertain tone. Now that he thought about it, there had been a bandage around Edric's right hand earlier that evening. Maybe that was where he had cut himself to sprout the tree. A superstitious shiver ran down Vilkas' spine. Magic was one thing; he didn't like it one bit, but he had seen enough of it that he could handle it, just barely. This though…this was the work of the Divine. A miracle, just as Danica had said.

"Edric is blessed of Kynareth. I can see the touch of the goddess on him when he prays in the temple."

"Yeah…" He scratched his chin, debating, then said to hell with it. No one had told him to keep it to himself, and the matter had been nagging at him since the day of Edric's fight with Skjor. He lowered his voice and said, "About Edric. I've been wondering… He said he saw a special healer earlier this summer. One who was able to fix old wounds, remove scars and such. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Because I have not." He watched with interest as Danica pulled back slightly and swallowed hard, looking almost ill. "So you have." Interesting.

"Aye…the face sculptor, people were calling her," Danica muttered in a low voice. "Face butcher is more like it. It is an abomination, an unclean combination of a healer's and chirurgeon's skills. She was to be found in Riften until recently, but word is that she left one night this summer and didn't return." She wrinkled her nose. "I had no idea Edric had done such a thing. What type of wounds would drive someone to take such a risk?"

Vilkas hesitated, suddenly regretting saying a word. He couldn't say anything else without exposing Edric; Danica wasn't slow like Farkas and would figure out who Edric was in a heartbeat.

Danica clucked her tongue at his hesitation and said, "Well, that is his business, I suppose."

"Aye. However…he can no longer heal magically. This mysterious healer operated on him so extensively that potions and spells no longer work on him." Danica made a sound of dismay and clutched at her amulet, closing her eyes. "You've heard of this happening before?" She nodded slowly. Well, Vilkas had seen the evidence with his own eyes.

"It happens, sometimes, when someone has used healing magic too often, over a long period of time. Old soldiers and adventurers. Combatants in the Imperial Arena. The body becomes resistant to it, as if the magic no longer sees the wounds." Her eyes opened as her expression hardened. "Pardon my saying so, but what on Nirn is he doing as a Companion? That is no line of work for someone with that kind of disability! Is he out of his mind?"

Vilkas said in a sour tone, "I suppose he thinks he is too good to get wounded."

"No one is!" Vilkas made a noncommittal sound and was relieved when she left it at that. Danica shook her head and went on, "Well then, he had better watch his back, or keep a shield-sibling around to watch it for him. I would talk to the Harbinger about it if I thought it would make a difference, but your newblood has a stubborn streak." She let her hand fall from her amulet. "I will spend my morning devotions tomorrow praying to Kynareth to watch over him. She has blessed him with this little child tree, so it is clear she favors him."

"That would be appreciated. Good evening, Danica."

"You too, Companion."

Vilkas let out a long breath as he headed down to the Plains District, hoping to catch Carlotta before her stall closed. She was just putting her stock away and he was able to get rations for the road, though she was clearly reluctant to serve him, pushing her daughter behind her when she saw him coming. As he stowed the supplies in his pack he saw everyone watching him warily, and he had to force down the flush of humiliation it caused. He damn well knew he deserved it. It was more than a little frightening to know that it was only a matter of time before the beast overcame him again and eroded his control, or Edric opened his mouth and pushed Vilkas' temper to its limits.

He stopped into the Bannered Mare for a quick dinner then set out again, eager to leave. As he made his way down the street out of town he passed Breezehome, and he kept his mind turned away from thoughts of Lydia as best he could. If he could just get cured he would manage just fine. He had never been a wonderful person, but he had always been honorable, a trusted member of the Circle, admired and looked up to by the other Companions and the folk of Whiterun, and he had always been sought after for his company in the bedroom or at the bar for a tale. It hurt to feel the stares on his back, to not hear the usual greetings he had long ago gotten used to. It hurt to see women avoiding his eyes, as if afraid to catch his attention.

Kodlak said he knew who held the cure for their curse but wasn't sure what the cure itself was. The old man was certain that the cure resided with those from whom the curse had originated: the Glenmoril Witches. The day of Edric's ceremony the two of them had batted back and forth finding some way to capture one of the creatures and force the answers out of her, but the risk was too great; there were five of the witches residing together in their coven, and even if someone managed to catch one of them it was doubtful she would give up the secret to a cure. Towards the end of the conversation Vilkas had had the poor judgment to snidely suggest that Edric could probably find some way of accomplishing all that and Kodlak had tersely dismissed him.

He passed through the city gates, lost in thought, wondering how long he could manage to stay away from Jorrvaskr. Away from home. Edric's presence had made Vilkas' own home an intolerable place to be. He had nowhere else to go, either. At this point he didn't dare seek the comfort of a woman for fear of losing control. The last go with Narri had seriously tested it, only his brother's calming presence making it manageable. It wasn't as if he preferred sharing women with his twin; it just happened sometimes, and it had made things easier for him this last year while he struggled with the blood. But he still wanted Farkas to be an integral part of his life, and how could that be when Farkas was with someone Vilkas couldn't tolerate? But then maybe Edric wouldn't be so intolerable once Vilkas was cured.

Vilkas growled to himself as a surge of anger and loss went through him again. Sure, Farkas could marry Edric, and Vilkas marry Narri; Farkas would have no children of his own, and Vilkas' children would have no real cousins. Their lives would still not be what Vilkas wanted, what they had both agreed to. Maybe a cure was within their grasp and Vilkas could be a normal man again and have a wife and family, but he'd be damned if he got cured before Farkas did. No way in Oblivion that was going to happen. He had Farkas' word that he would comply when Vilkas asked him for that promised favor. He still had that in reserve, and by Ysmir he planned to use it.

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_**A/N: Thank you Julie5 for your continuing kind reviews, and thank you also to the latest Favorites and Follows.**_

_**One of these days I'm going to get actual cover art for this story, however I can't get my in-game Edric to look anything close to my mental image of him, which is (god help me please don't laugh, and please don't read any further if you don't want to know) a young Travis Fimmel. There, I said it and it's out there. I almost never think of real-life people/celebrity lookalikes as characters but I have had this strong mental image of Edric from the start. Hopefully this doesn't ruin any readers' own mental picture that they may have formed of him. If so, please feel free to throw virtual rotten tomatoes and cabbages at me.  
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